


City of Angels

by Siana



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Attempted Rape, Lots of Angst, M/M, Sam died prior to story, Some minor violence, angst!Dean, cop!cas, one rather gory scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 19:46:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 53,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1400239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siana/pseuds/Siana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his brother's death Dean ends up alone and lost in Los Angeles where he drifts aimlessly until one chance meeting changes everything.</p><p>This is a work for the <a href="http://angels-radio.livejournal.com/">Angels Radio</a> Destiel and Sabriel fest over on lj. The song that inspired this story was City of Angels by Thirty Seconds to Mars</p>
            </blockquote>





	City of Angels

**Author's Note:**

> I've taken some artistic license with the laws pertaining homelessness in LA. Los Angeles hasn't really outlawed homelessness (yet)

**Chapter 1 - City of Dreams**

If anyone asked Dean Winchester why he ended up in Los Angeles of all places, he wouldn’t be able to give them a straight answer. He would probably say something flippant and move on. Truth be told Dean himself wasn’t too sure himself why he was here.

He knew why he wasn’t where he was supposed to be here, but why he ended up in Los Angeles was a whole other story. And one he simply preferred not to dwell on. Truth and consequence, as simple as that.

The pretty blonde next to him said something she apparently considered funny because she looked at him with that same expectancy she had displayed every time she had made a joke. Dean laughed halfheartedly and took another deep sip from his whiskey. He wasn’t particularly interested in the girl, as long as she would take him home he didn’t care about her name or about her increasingly unfunny jokes.

She was pretty drunk already, leaning into him and making no secret out of her interest in him. She had spent the earlier hours of the evening eying him excessively and winking every time their eyes met and once Dean deemed himself drunk enough, he had gone over and offered her a drink.

He didn’t like to pick up girls; they all expected him to buy their drinks on top of his own. But in a bar like this it couldn’t be helped. The guys here were exclusively straight and Dean wasn’t too fond of a fist to his face because one of those testosterone-sick assholes took offence to his interest. 

Dean waved to the bartender and he refilled his glass with whiskey. The girl kept on chatting but Dean only listened with half an ear. He usually waited until the girl was pretty much drunk on her own before he approached her, that way he could save money and nerves, but this one was pretty resistant, nursing her third Dean-paid cocktail and still giving no sign of inviting him home. 

Dean thought sourly to himself that he’d rather sleep in the car than listen to any more of her blabbering. He had lost count of how many whiskeys he had downed - beer no longer cut it - but it wasn’t nearly enough to continue listening to her grating voice. Sometimes it felt like no amount of alcohol in the world could take it all away; neither could the sex ever fill the hole in his chest.

But it was something.

The girl leaned closer, her breath, clogged sweet with sugar and fruit, ghosted over his skin and she whispered an invitation into his ears. It was probably supposed to sound seducing and sexy but Dean only felt revolted. Still he smiled at her, nodding silently and with fake enthusiasm. It was all a means to an end and at this point Dean couldn’t say he cared much about anything. 

They got up after Dean paid for their drinks and while she was clearly excited and not above groping him, Dean was more concerned about the hole in his wallet. He would have to hustle some pool soon to make up for it.

“My place or yours?” She slurred and Dean noted with that sort of clear-faced perception he so desperately tried to escape that she wore way too much makeup; her face looking like it would crack any moment. Her lipstick was smeared and Dean vaguely remembered her mouthing at his neck earlier and he suppressed the urge to wipe his skin clean.

“Yours.” Dean said without hesitation. In the past weeks it had become habitual to him to answer this question and most people accepted it without a second guess. This woman apparently didn’t.

“You’re no fun.” She pouted. “I wanted to see your place.” Dean just shrugged. He no longer had a place but he wasn’t going to tell her that. She pouted some more but led him down the street either way in merciful silence.

Her apartment was small and ratty, and Dean wished he had drunk more so he wouldn’t notice the stale smell of the sheets, the cracks in the wall and the moldy stains on the ceiling of her bedroom. He wished he didn’t have to notice the sloppiness of her kisses, her mindless giggles as she failed to undo his pants and the sticky feel of dried spit on his cock when she almost gagged on him in a too drunken attempt of a blowjob. He fucked her without passion, but she was blissfully out of her mind, moaning excessively and way too loud for Dean’s taste. She reminded him of a bad porn actor and he wouldn’t have been surprised at all if her orgasm was faked; only she was too drunk to achieve that so maybe it was a conditioned action.

Either way, Dean didn’t care.

She tried to cuddle once they were done, and Dean let her snuggle up to him until she fell asleep and he could pry her off. He got up then to sleep - fully dressed -on the couch, too many awkward mornings had taught him that closer to the exit was always an advantage.

Sleep didn’t come easily though. He hadn’t drunken enough, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t forget. The couch was old and ratty, the springs worn and the mattress was sagging through in the middle. His hand found its way to the amulet around his neck on its own accord, but even squeezing the small figure between his fingers didn’t offer any comfort. 

It hardly ever did.

He barely slept that night.

But maybe that was for the best. It allowed him to get up early, to take a shower in the girl’s bathroom and do some well needed grooming. He no longer had qualms about using some stranger’s stuff. He tossed away the toothbrush and the onetime razor (one of those silly blunt things for Ladies that barely got rid of his stubble) after use and helped himself to a sandwich from the fridge. 

A long time ago he might have felt guilty about this part of his routine, but he figured he had paid for it well enough with his body. Most of the girls would have offered their stuff up anyway, and if he walked out without a word, they still could count themselves glad that he didn’t stay and unload his shit on them.

He was bad luck after all.

 

**Chapter 2 - City of Stars**

It was easier to find someone to pick up during the weekend, but in a city like LA there was always someone somewhere who would take home a stranger no matter what day. The difficulty was to find that someone, but then again, Dean had gotten exceptionally good at that. It was Friday and Dean knew he wouldn’t have a problem with that tonight.

They said that New York never slept but it was just the same for Los Angeles. It was bright, always so bright, with the billions of city lights that ignited the night sky. There were no stars visible, none at all over the city of stars. To Dean it was all the same though.

He was drunk. Real drunk like he hadn’t been in a long time. He had outdone himself at pool hustling today and he had gone to celebrate his short-lived wealth in the next liberal looking bar. He wasn’t in the mood for done up girls tonight. He wanted something harder and rougher, something he didn’t have to sit through hours of mindless talk and giggles to get to.

And maybe something with an edge.

The alcohol did a good job. He didn’t feel good; Dean doubted he had it still in him to feel good again after what happened, but he also didn’t feel the pain quite so bad that had become a constant in his life. But then the guilt came back crashing in, because he had no right to feel relieved, he should feel all the pain in the world, he **needed** to feel the pain because it was all his fault-

He had run these thoughts so often now, the repetition became tedious. Dean stared blankly at his empty glass, caught between the relief the buzz of alcohol brought and the hollow feeling that lingered - always lingered - deep in his chest. His hand found the amulet and he squeezed until it hurt, until the physical pain was the only thing he felt and he could finally let go again.

Dean ordered another double shot of whiskey. The bartender knew better than to ask him if he wanted ice this time. The whiskey was mediocre, not top shelf but not bad either, not that Dean would have cared at this point. As long as it burned away the pain.

It was getting later and therefore time for Dean to find his next prey. He emptied his whiskey and slapped a few bills on the counter. He was probably over-tipping but he didn’t care. He should probably, he could use the extra money he made today to get some essentials, but it was hard to be rational when the alcohol was taking over. 

He didn’t leave the bar though; he merely changed his stance and turned around to face the rest of the room. It was easy to slip into this role, the alcohol had soothed the frayed edges of his mind and the smile he slapped on his lips at the first stranger who showed interest didn’t even feel as fake as he was used to.

There were quite a few men, and a few women, who signaled their interest but before Dean could make his choice, he was already approached. And this man, Dean could tell even in his inebriated state, meant business.

The stranger wasn’t exactly Dean’s type, but he introduced himself with a double shot of tequila and Dean had become anything but picky. He was tall with a lean built, wiry hair already receding slightly and a sharply cut face with cold pale eyes. It didn’t matter either way. A means to an end.

Even if he could no longer tell what that end was.

The man had a smarmy demeanor and his nasal voice would probably grate on Dean’s nerves hadn’t he been so pleasantly drunk. “You can sure hold your liquor.” The man commented and Dean just shrugged noncommittally. The man actually smirked.

“Right. Name’s Alastair.” The man rested a possessive hand on Dean’s shoulder and nodded to the bartender to refill Dean’s shot glass. Hadn’t he been this smashed Dean would have probably noted that the man didn’t drink anything but at the moment he was primarily interested in his tequila. 

“Dean.” He grunted and downed his next shot. “Want to get this show on the road?” He then asked, because one more drink and he wouldn’t be able to get it up and wouldn’t that be a fucking disappointment. Alastair - what kind of name was that even? - laughed and he slipped his hand down Dean’s leg and Dean really needed to get his shit together because he hadn’t even noticed him putting it there.

But getting plastered had been the main goal of this evening so everything was exactly as it should be. “You’re quite eager, aren’t you?” Alastair’s breath ghosted wetly over Dean’s neck and Dean was glad for the thick cushion of alcohol he had built up, because otherwise this would have been a major turn off. “Well who am I to keep you waiting.” 

Dean got off from his bar stool and waited for Alastair to pay for their drinks. He took the time to give the guy a good look over and came to the reassuring conclusion that the man definitely came from money which meant that he would get to sleep comfortable for a change tonight. 

Alastair wrapped his arm around Dean’s middle and pulled him close against this chest. There had been a time when Dean would have protested this kind of closeness in open public, and probably behind closed doors too; it was way too intimate from a stranger, but it wasn’t just the alcohol that had him not caring. 

Means to an end. Consequence.

The street outside was bright with the light spilling out from countless bars and shops, people milling about and a constant buzz of faint music and voices in the air. Alastair’s other hand was busy groping him and he kept whispering things into Dean’s ear, but he was too out of it to make out any details. It was just a steady thrum of noise that washed right over the night buzz.

Alastair led him down the street and then off into a side road and it took Dean way longer than it should to notice that something was wrong. There were no more people around them; the street was dark and deserted and Alastair’s voice suddenly sounded rather threatening. Dean tried very hard to focus on what he was saying, tried to make sense of his surroundings.

“…can’t wait to tear you open.” It was just a fragment, but it had Dean’s blood freeze in his veins. He tried to step away from Alastair then but the man had a firm grip on him and Dean had drunk way too much alcohol to be in fighting form.

Alastair laughed, but the sound was almost frightening in the surrounding quietness. One of his hands had found its way into Dean’s pants and he was fondling his ass cheek and Dean felt a wave of revulsion wash over him. And not a small portion of that was for himself that he had walked right into the man’s trap.

“Has Mommy never taught you not to go with strangers?” Dean tensed and tried to shove the man off now with more force but Alastair only tightened his grip. “But I figure someone like you just wants it all the same.”

“And who is that, someone like me?” Dean ground out; feeling the first tendrils of anger but it was all lagging, like the alcohol was delaying not only his reaction time but also his emotions.

“A whore.” Alastair said easily and Dean almost laughed. The anger was gone again, as unreliable as Dean’s senses at the moment and he knew he should be scared and fighting but all Dean could do was laugh, at the absurdity of it all.

“You’re right.” He said. “I am a whore. And you are paying way too much.” Dean had given up his struggling but he also was no longer supporting his own weight. He now hung limply in Alastair’s arms like a sack of potatoes and he would be damned if he gave more entertainment than that.

Alastair gave no sign if Dean’s laughter had unsettled him, but even if he had, Dean wouldn’t have noticed either way. “I wouldn’t say that. I am sharing after all.”

They had reached a dead end, some backwards alley with dumpsters and piles of garbage, and they were no longer alone. Dean’s brain was still muddled and everything seemed to happen so slow and impossibly fast at the same time that it was hard to stay on track. He felt oddly disconnected, like he was watching someone else and some part of him, the part he had so desperately tried to suppress with alcohol and sex was strangely relieved.

He had tried to run away, had tried to find something to fill the void but there was no escape and now finally it would all come to an end. Maybe that was the end he had been looking for.

There were three of them, not counting Alastair and they all looked at him like he was a piece of meat. 

“What about it? I’ll let them spread you nice and open for me and then I’m going to fuck you until you scream.” Alastair’s grip was impossible tight on his arm and his voice was a low whisper that made his skin crawl but even that didn’t do anything to pull Dean out of his stupor.

“You should kill me first.” Dean said but it sounded all wrong, like it was said by someone else .It didn’t matter though, not anymore, he would be with Sam soon and that was all that mattered. It would hurt, but that was alright too because Sam must have hurt too. He was the big brother, it was only fair that he wouldn’t get off easy.

“No worries, we’ll get to that later.” Alastair purred into his ear and shoved him forward.

Consequence, that’s what it all came down to.

The first man reached for him and Dean let himself fall into his arms, because there were four of them and Dean had already given up a long time ago.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Castiel would have liked to say that the stranger captivated his eye from the first second he walked in. That he drew in Castiel’s attention like a magnet; that his beauty was so outstanding that Castiel couldn’t look away. That the moment he laid eyes on Dean something profound was formed between them and that henceforth their connection was irrevocable.

But the truth was; the stranger only caught his attention because of a random coincidence, because a waitress spilled half the drinks on her tray and Castiel leaned over his table to help her and when he looked up again Dean walked right into his field of vision. 

But maybe that made it all the more special.

Because if he hadn’t seen Dean in that moment, he might have never ever gotten to meet him.

Castiel couldn’t remember why he went to that bar in particular. He had felt off for the last few days and figured he needed a break like Balthazar so eloquently proposed and thus he had gone out and into the first bar that seemed decent. 

It was of course open to a lot of interpretation what made a bar decent, but Castiel wasn’t too badly disappointed and the drinks actually were quite good. The desired effect didn’t occur though and Castiel still felt the restlessness that had plagued him throughout the last week. 

And then the waitress had stumbled over something and her tray came down heavily on his table, half of the glasses falling over and spilling and Castiel had offered his help without thinking. When he looked up the two men had walked right past him and Castiel had instantly taken up all the small details their body language had offered.

He had seen the obvious state of drunkenness the younger one - late twenties maybe - was in, had seen how the older had guided him with a hand around his middle, had seen the clarity in his eyes and most importantly he had seen the silent gesture he had made to a table at the other end of the room where three men sat waiting, eyes on the younger man with an intensity and a hunger that told Castiel everything he needed to know.

And he had acted merely out of the obligation to do the right thing. The man himself had only barely caught Castiel’s attention as an individual; he was too drunk, too wrung up and, that Castiel could see from five miles away, he was wreck.

He quickly paid his tab, the waitress already sauntered off after a hasty thank you and he waited only long enough for the three men to exit the bar before he followed. All their attention was focused on the couple in front of them, they never expected anyone to follow and Castiel was used to use crowds as cover so the first meters of tailing were quite easy. But even when they left the busy street it was only a matter of staying in the shadows. None of them looked back even once.

Castiel didn’t have his service weapon with him, but he had been a cop long enough to never go out unarmed. Even if he had to rely on a can of mace and some brass knuckles his boss would give him hell over if he ever found out. He should probably call for backup, this could get him into serious trouble - aside from the fact that he was about to take on four guys alone - but Castiel didn’t have his radio with him.

They had reached a back alley, no working street lamp in sight and what Castiel could hear from the conversation didn’t give much hope that it was just a late night stroll among friends. The victim didn’t even try to put up a fight and Castiel had to assume he had been drugged. That would complicate things.

The first man shoved the victim and he fell forward without even trying to catch himself. Castiel used the cover of a dumpster to edge closer until he was only a few yards away from the man closest to his end of the alley. He weighed the can of mace in his hand and went through his options, but he didn’t exactly have many.

The first man, who seemed to be the group’s leader, stood back and only watched as his companions pushed the victim against the nearest wall and crowded in on him. Castiel cursed under his breath. He had hoped for all four of them being distracted so that he could sneak up on them, but with a setup like this it would be more difficult. And all the while he was running out of time.

There was a pained groan and the victim slumped forward, like someone had just punched him in the gut. One of the attackers slurred something and the lot of them burst into loud and cruel laughter. 

“You’ve outdone yourself this time Al. He’s fucking pretty.” One of them called back and Castiel’s attention was drawn back to the first man. He leaned against the opposite wall, a cold glint in his eyes and he watched the whole thing with perverse interest. Castiel knew the look and he also knew that the fate they had in store for the victim was horrific.

“Too bad he isn’t fighting back.” Another laughed and there was muted sound followed by another grunt.

Castiel thought fuck it.

He stood up and into what little light the far off street lamps offered. “I’ll count to three and then you’ll better be gone.” Castiel said, voice steady and low enough to be threatening, keeping the hand with the brass knuckle visible. This could all backfire at him and there was a real chance that he might end up at the victim’s side, but Castiel also knew that men like this usually were cowards and would run at the first hint of resistance.

“I called the police.” Castiel added and changed his stance, now that he had the gang’s attention. He desperately hoped that the leader wouldn’t rally the others into a fight. At the same time he wished he had been wise enough to actually call 911, but the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. He was the one after all people usually called in situations like this.

The three assailants had retreated from the slumped man like he had burned them, looking at him with wide eyes. One didn’t even wait for the other’s reaction but bolted the moment Castiel had mentioned the cops. 

“I really hate to be interrupted.” The man called Al growled and for a short moment Castiel was sure that he was about to sic his remaining goons on him. But then one of them spoke up.

“Come on Al, it’s not worth it. We can find easier prey somewhere else.” He earned a sour look upon mentioning the man’s name again but then Al nodded sharply and the three men backed away slowly. 

Castiel remained where he was, forcing himself not to rush to the victim’s side until the men were clearly out of sight. That had been a damn close call. And Castiel would definitely check their faces with the database, wishing furiously he could have arrested them right there.

The man sat slumped on the grown, breath heavy with alcohol and his eyes were unsteady. Castiel looked around one more time before he put his weapons away and unceremoniously pulled the man up and hefted him on his shoulder. He’d rather be out of the dark alley before he moved on to pleasantries.

The man was conscious but he didn’t make any attempt to help Castiel to support his weight. They reached a lit street with a few people milling about and Castiel figured it was good enough. He dragged the man to a near bench between to lampposts and sat him down. Castiel checked the man for injuries but aside from a serious case of intoxication he seemed fine. 

Well that and the rather disturbing fact that he seemed thoroughly disinterested in his surroundings. 

“Can you tell me your name?” Castiel asked slowly and watched the man’s eyes for any signs of drug abuse. He wished he had his flashlight with him. Among other things. 

The man snorted. “I’m not stupid.” He replied and his words was a bit slurred but articulated enough. Castiel stared at him incredulous.

“Well?” He prompted then, voice tight and seriously contemplating to knock some sense into this man. He had obviously been cognizant and still didn’t attempt to fight back. There was stupidity and there was suicidal tendencies, and Castiel was not letting this man out of his sight any time soon.

“Dean.” The man grunted and proceeded to give him an alcohol-delayed onceover. Castiel stared back flatly until the man looked away with a shrug. He was, Castiel realized belatedly, rather handsome, despite his rugged appearance. He was clean and recently shaven - albeit a bit irregular - but there was a weariness to his face and his clothes had that well-worn homeless person look.

“Hello Dean, I am Castiel.” Dean merely grunted something unintelligible in response. Castiel sighed. “Can you tell me where you live?” Castiel tried and sat down next to Dean in an attempt to appear more amiable. 

“No.” Dean said flatly and then, “What’s it to you?” 

Castiel could feel a headache flare behind his temples. He didn’t do it for the gratitude, but Dean’s complete lack of acknowledgment, his complete lack of care about the situation was rather infuriating. And on top of it Dean had to be deliberately obstinate.

“I gather you don’t have a home then.” Castiel said and wished, not for the first time, that his partner Balthazar were here. Castiel was a good cop, a great one actually, but he was horrible inept when it came to dealing with victims. He could read criminals, could predict their actions with an improbable high success rate - wild cards like Al notwithstanding - but he had no idea how to handle someone who had just barely escaped a rape. At least he could tell that Dean was very obviously not fine.

Dean looked at him with a death glare. “It’s none of your business.” He ground out and Castiel figured he’d struck a nerve. Which probably wasn’t a good thing in a situation like this.

“So what now?” Dean snapped. “You going to get lost soon or are you going to sit here and stare at me for the rest of the night?” Castiel frowned. He felt the very strong urge to snap back at Dean and remind him who had just saved his life, but he forced himself to remain calm. Balthazar had once told him that victims often lashed out or got defensive and that one should always remain calm.

But Dean was seriously tempting his patience.

“I won’t leave you here on your own.” Castiel said firmly and Dean gaped at him.

“Right.” He snorted. “What are you, a social worker?”

“Close.” Castiel deadpanned.

“Would you get lost already?” Dean sounded tired now, exhausted. He leaned back against the bench, eyes closed and an arm thrown over his forehead. His other hand was wrapped around a pendant hanging from his neck and he seemed to have temporarily forgotten Castiel’s presence.

Castiel wondered if he planned on falling asleep right there.

“He pushed himself to his feet and looked down at Dean. “Come on. My car is close and I’ll drop you off wherever you want.” Castiel said and Dean lifted his head to look at him with bleary eyes.

He was obviously thinking about it, but it took him rather long to work through it and Castiel was tempted to ask how much he had to drink. A couple strolled past but they were too wrapped up in each other to pay them any mind. 

“Okay.” Dean said but didn’t make any move to get up. Castiel reached out his hand.

“Okay.” Dean said again and let Castiel pull him up. He overbalanced and Castiel had to step in to catch his fall. Dean leaned heavily on him, his breath was hot and wet on Castiel’s skin and Castiel was struck again by the thought that Dean indeed was beautiful.

Castiel’s car was parked a few blocks down from the bar and Castiel was glad that he had decided to take it in the first place even if that meant he could only have a few drinks. Dean was hobbling on his own two feet more or less and Castiel could deposit him on the passenger seat with comparable ease.

“Don’t throw up in my car.” Castiel warned when he put on his seatbelt. Dean shot him another death glare and tilted his head back against the backrest. He didn’t comment when Castiel drove off without asking for directions, he kept his eyes close for the whole of the drive and Castiel realized that he must have fallen asleep.

Dean, in fact, was awake, because his eyes snapped open the moment Castiel turned off the engine in front of his apartment complex. “Where are we?” He asked with a frown.

“Home.” Castiel said easily, hoping he could soothe Dean’s frayed nerves a bit. What he got instead was a wide-eyed look that quickly morphed into an expression Castiel couldn’t name. Dean looked down into his lap where his hands lay and one of them twitched like he wanted to reach for something but he didn’t move any further.

“Yeah.” he said. “Right.”

Still, he followed Castiel out of the car and into the building without a fuss and that had to count as a win. That was what Castiel thought at least until he had closed the door behind them. Dean walked inside like he owned the place, right into the living room where he turned around, hands already pulling open the buttons of his flannel shirt. Castiel was confused for a moment until he realized that Dean was undressing. 

“Do you want to do it here or in your bedroom?” Dean asked and Castiel wondered if he had missed an important part of the conversation.

“Do what?” He asked, keys still in hand and eyes locked on the smooth expanse of Dean’s belly where it showed from under his t-shirt and then his eyes were drawn up, following the hem as Dean pulled it off completely. The skin was slightly discolored from where the men had hit him but it didn’t look too serious.

Dean exhaled and it sounded like a very exasperated sigh. Castiel blinked and pulled his gaze from Dean’s skin. “You didn’t just invite me home because of the goodness of your heart. I’m going to repay you and tomorrow we’ll go our separate ways.” Even in his confusion and the absurdity of the situation Castiel noted the way Dean’s eyes flicked to the side when he said tomorrow. 

Castiel blinked again but Dean was still there in his living room, hands now awkwardly clasped around his flannel shirt as he stared back at Castiel. “I can make it good for you.” He said but he sounded lost now, like Castiel’s reaction had taken all the wind from his sails.

“I’ll get you pajamas.” Castiel finally said, put down the keys and fled upstairs, wondering if he should wish for Dean having redressed or undressed completely when he came down again.

Thinking back, Castiel still liked to think that what connected him and Dean was special, but if he was perfectly honest it was merely a string of rather strange incidents and chance. 

But maybe that was people called fate.

 

**Chapter 3 - City of Memories**

Dean had thought his life was over, had thought he was okay with that, but he had been proven wrong on both accounts. The moment he had been shoved against the alley wall, stale breath of his attackers in his face, he had realized with a sudden intensity that this wasn’t how he wanted it to end. Not like this.

The revelation had almost come too late.

And then the stranger -Castiel - had appeared and Dean had been thrust right into his second chance. And hadn’t that been a fucking miracle right there. Dean knew he should be grateful, and damn him, he was. But that didn’t take away the heavy feeling of guilt in his gut. Dean was undeserving of a second chance.

Dean wished the stranger would just leave him alone already. All he wanted was to find the next bar and drink away what little sobriety he had retained. He just wanted to forget. Sam was still dead while Dean was still alive. Hot was that fair? 

But apparently the man wasn’t so easily deterred and he had taken Dean home and Dean could deal with that, fucking for a roof over his head had become common for him after all. Except then Castiel had turned and left him standing there half undressed in his living room and Dean had stared after him and asked himself what the fuck he was even doing. The guy had saved his life and now he apparently was out to save his chastity too.

Dean pulled his shirt back on and sat down on the couch, staring blankly at the expensive mounted television. He didn’t understand at all what was happening. His head was still swimming with alcohol and Dean wished he’d either be sober or wasted out of his mind. Just not this in between state that left him with enough clarity to understand how little he actually understood.

That didn’t even make sense.

Dean covered his face with his hands. Castiel came back then and he had to get up so he could transform the couch into a bed and Dean was just staring at the whole process with bleary eyes still not sure what he should make of it.

Castiel had brought him a pair of pajama bottoms and an old faded shirt to go with it. He did the next obvious thing and went into the bathroom to change and when he came back Castiel was gone and that was alright because Dean hadn’t the strength left to face him.

His dreams were full of Sam and fragments of his mother and when he woke up he felt the pain that always came with waking up from a sweet dream into the harsh reality of day. He’d prefer nightmares anytime over this heavy feeling.

There was a glass of water, an aspirin and a note on the coffee table. He took the aspirin immediately and downed all of the water, giving himself a minute to just sit there and let his headache settle. Then he read the note.

_Breakfast is in the kitchen. Make yourself at home.  
\- Castiel_

The note said nothing else and Dean put it back on the table. Breakfast consisted of a glass of orange juice, two toasts with butter and an apple. Dean ate all of it but kept the apple for later. It wasn’t his usual choice of food but living like he had for the past few months had taught him that every kind of food was important.

Castiel was nowhere to be found and Dean felt annoyed at the fact that the guy would drag him home and then just leave him alone anyway like all his supposed care from yesterday was just a fluke. But maybe Castiel had just wanted to do his one good deed of the year and he could live with that. Castiel did save his life but he didn’t have to like him for it.

Dean cleaned up his breakfast dishes and went to take a look around the apartment. There were no pictures, except one very candid shot of two men - one of them Castiel - in front of what seemed to be a company picnic. The picture stood on the second highest shelf of one of the two very impressive bookcases that lined the living room. Dean was tempted to look through the collection, maybe pick a few to read but this wasn’t his home.

He turned away from the inviting rows of books and entered the bathroom for his usual morning-after bathroom routine, feeling strangely vengeful as he used Castiel’s stuff, and left after he scribbled a quick thanks under Castiel’s note. He owed him as much he figured. 

He couldn’t help but wonder though what kind of life Castiel led. His apartment gave away so little, there were barely any personal belongings or anything that hinted at someone actually living in the place. Even the bedroom, upon one quick cursory glance, seemed mostly impersonal and empty. Except for the books, some of them with well-worn covers, and the one picture there was nothing that could tell Dean anything about Castiel. Or why he would be out in the middle of the night to serve some random stranger from assault.

He’d never know but that was fine too.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Dean went to see his baby.

He had parked the Impala in a storage unit downtown, a duffel bag with all his belongings - a scarce few - in the trunk and a hell lot of memory stuffed under the hood. It hadn’t been an easy decision to leave her there, but with how his lifestyle had changed a car would have only been in the way.

But it also couldn’t hurt to have a home base.

Dean hated public transportation, the people, the closeness, the dirty seats and filthy metal railings, but he had no other choice but to grow used to them. Without a car it was the only way to go around. He reached the storage unit around early noon. It was a rather small one and the owner charged reasonable prices, even for Los Angeles. And more importantly he didn’t care that Dean used his facility as a makeshift garage.

His unit was on the edge of the property, easy to reach, even with a car. He unlocked the gate and flipped on the light bulb that hung from a wire form the ceiling. Dean popped the trunk of the Impala and pulled out his duffel bag. He desperately needed a change of clothes. He had taken a shower at Castiel’s but the feeling of filth clinging to his skin hadn’t disappeared. He hadn’t noticed it at first. It had been a creeping sensation, a slow itch until his skin like ants crawling over him and no matter how much he scratched and rubbed it didn’t disappear.

He could still feel it. The men’s hand on him and fuck, no matter how often he had given his body away for a bed and a bit of grub in the morning it had never affected him like this. He had never felt this filthy. He needed to get rid of these clothes and then take another shower or better a bath and he would scrub until his skin was red and then maybe this feeling would go away.

But all the clothes, what little he had in the first place, were dirty and he had planned to go to a Laundromat soon and he still needed to stock up for winter soon. California had a mild climate but it could still get kind of cold. It was only September though, so there was still time. But he couldn’t stand the feeling of his current clothes any longer, he would have to change even if that meant pulling on something dirty.

He pulled out everything from his bag, piling it up in the trunk. His hand stilled when he touched the neatly folded set of clothing at the bottom. His funeral suit. Pristine and clean but weighed down with so many pain and memories it might as well have been medieval plate armor. 

Dean had bought it because he felt Sam deserved something special and he had worn it when they put him into the ground and he had worn it when he had cried his eyes out in the car and he had worn it when he had thrown up the contents of his stomach because he couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that his baby brother was gone forever. And he had worn it when he realized that he had failed as a big brother, because it had been his duty to look out for Sammy and he had tried his best but he had failed and now Sam was dead after they hadn’t spoken to each other in years.

Sam had decided to follow his own path and go to college in Stanford against John’s wishes and it had all ended in a big fight and a slammed door. Dean hadn’t intervened, had only watched and listened and done nothing when John kicked out his little brother and secretly he had felt a bit vindicated because Sam was leaving him too, but mostly he had felt lonely and abandoned.

And it had been so easy to shun Sam, to act like he didn’t care that his brother had cut his ties so easily. It was Sam after all who chose to leave them and it would have to be him to try and reach out again. They hadn’t talked for years, Dean constantly torn between anger and longing but he hadn’t done anything and then the hospital had called because he was still Sam’s emergency contact. Even after all what happened. And Dean’s life had crumbled to pieces.

He slammed the trunk shut, the pile of least smelling clothes in hand and walked to sit in the driver’s seat. He should have thrown away that suit a long time ago but every time he tried to pull it out of the bag, he felt frozen in place. This suit, he had worn it the last time he had seen his brother and he couldn’t let go, just like he couldn’t let go of the pendant hanging around his neck. It was all he had left from Sammy after all.

John hadn’t come with him to Palo Alto, had stubbornly refused because going would mean admitting that he had done wrong or maybe he had just been too afraid to face his dying son. And so Dean had driven to California on his own, without a rest, and still he had been too late. Sam had been dead and all Dean could do was say his goodbyes to a corpse. 

One little blip in time, an error of judgment, a left turn taken at the wrong time and three people were dead. And one of them was Dean Winchester’s younger brother.

So it goes, Vonnegut would say.

Dean had no words.

He hadn’t called John because John had kicked Sam out and he didn’t even want to see him when he was dying so he had no right to see him when he was dead. And because Dean couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. Sammy was dead. Closing his eyes didn’t make the truth go away but saying it aloud settled it in stone.

Dean didn’t know anyone from the people at the funeral, he felt like the outsider even though he was the only one actually related by blood. And then Sam’s girlfriend had approached him and Dean had learned of the life his brother had led from a complete stranger he had never seen before. 

She had offered him to stay the night at her place, and he could see it in her eyes, the wish to share, to learn everything about Sam she could, a desperate attempt to cling on to the memory and Dean had done the only thing he could - he ran. He had declined and walked away, gotten into the car and had driven, right out of Palo Alto - his brother’s home - and just followed the road without a destination other than away.

Eventually he had ended up in one of Los Angeles’s suburbs; he could see the Hollywood Hills with the giant letters, awash in red and orange in the light of the sinking sun. It had looked like the entrance to hell. It had looked like a welcome sign. He pulled over on an empty street, hills plain in sight and he had taken out his phone.

Dean had called John, out of some twisted sense of loyalty and told him about the funeral, and because there was no point in denying it had told him that he wasn’t coming back. Because home was no longer home to him, because Sam was dead and cold and buried six feet under and Dean had lost the only thing in his life that he ever considered important.

John didn’t understand. But John hadn’t seen Sam’s cold white face, hadn’t seen the plenty of people who said their farewells, hadn’t seen the life his son had built that had no place for a brother or a father. He hadn’t been told that everything had been taken care of already by people who weren’t family and who had never seen little Sammy stumble over his legs in excitement at the sound of the ice cream truck. He had become angry, had shouted at Dean, demanded that he get his goddamn ass home and with sudden intensity Dean had remembered the words John had yelled at Sam all those years ago.

_If you walk out that door don’t bother to come back._

The words that had driven Sammy out of their lives.

And something in Dean had snapped and he had yelled at his Father, something he had never done before and it had felt so good because it was so much easier to blame John than to face the truth. 

John’s reply had been filed with anger. “Don’t talk back at me boy.” And all of Dean’s anger evaporated. Because John still wasn’t over Mary and he would never be and he wouldn’t accept Sam’s dead as a loss because Sam had walked out on them and because he was about to repeat the same mistake with Dean. Because John still hadn’t learned a damn thing.

Dean had ended the call and shut off his phone.

John hadn’t called back.

And Dean had put the car back in drive and entered Los Angeles with its fire burned hills and the billion lights that slowly hailed to the morning sun.

Dean pulled out his phone from the glove compartment but its battery was empty and he had no reason to charge it. There was no one he wanted to call. He knew that his family was worried - at least the part of his family that wasn’t John - but he couldn’t face any of them. Bobby had lost Karen and Ellen had lost Bill and they both had dealt with it, only he as a Winchester obviously wasn’t able to cope. 

But what was he supposed to do?

It was Sammy for fucks sake. His responsibility since he was four and the best part of his fucking life and he had failed to protect him. And Dean had lost control over his life, because he was a wimp and couldn’t fucking handle it.

He dropped the phone back and slammed the glove compartment shut. Dean forced a deep breath and then another. He started the engine and let it run for a few minutes to warm the motor and then he shut it off again. He wondered again what the fuck he was doing. The impala’s tank was full and he could just leave but still he felt trapped in this stupid big city with its countless empty promises and faceless masses, felt trapped in the anonymity that protected him and that had almost cost him his life.

He should go home.

But there was no longer a home for him. 

And for a short moment he saw himself back at Castiel’s apartment, sitting on that ridiculously soft couch, watching TV on that stupidly huge mounted television next to a man with gorgeous blue eyes. But that wasn’t him and Castiel was a stranger he merely crossed paths with once and he had saved Dean’s life but so what?

He could still feel the shame of being touched and groped against his will, while thinking that this was the end he deserved and when he realized it wasn’t, being too weak to fight for himself . Castiel was nice probably, but he had seen Dean at his weakest and worst and Dean had shouldered his own burden since he was four and there was no place for someone else. He didn’t deserve it.

Dean would stay here until the city had swallowed him up and he was nothing more than another John Doe in some police report. Maybe then his dreams would stop haunting him with Sam’s face. He hadn’t even realized he had grabbed the amulet until he felt the sharp pain of the horns digging into his palms. The familiar feeling grounded him but it also served to remind him of that Christmas an endless time ago when Dad had gotten out on a binge and Sam had given him this present because it was special and Dean deserved that more than John.

He hadn’t taken it off since the phone call from the hospital.

His skin was still itching with that ghostly feeling of hands touching him and Dean pulled the key from the ignition with a sigh. He quickly changed in the cramp space of the front seat and he felt gross all over but at least the itching sensation was gone and maybe if he found someone nice and decent tonight he could have a proper shower and finally feel like himself again.

But then again he didn’t even know who that was anymore.

 

**Chapter 4 - City of Hope**

He found a Laundromat that suited his tastes after only a minor amount of searching. The area wasn’t exactly proper but it wasn’t too bad either, meaning the shop was clean albeit a bit run-down. Thanks to his winnings from the day before his wallet was still rather thick and if push came to shove he still had his credit card even though he’d rather not use that. Ellen’s hacker friend Ash would find him in a heartbeat. Dean had no illusions about them trying to find him that way. 

And if anything Dean Winchester didn’t want to be found.

There was a diner across the street and Dean went in to exchange a few bucks into quarters. He would have liked to sit out the laundry time and eat something but he wanted to wash all of his clothes and an arrest because of public indecency wasn’t on his bucket list. 

Two middle aged women were busy loading their machines, chatting animatedly with each other but there was one other man - homeless by the looks of it - who was down to his underwear and stared blankly at the wall while he waited. 

The Ladies paid him no mind. But as soon as Dean started stripping their conversation drifted off and Dean could feel their stares on him. He forced himself to ignore them but the feeling of shame and dirt clinging to him like a second skin returned and he felt sick and used, almost worse than he had this morning. 

There was a pile of old magazines and newspapers on one of the dryers in the corner and Dean went to look through them after he started the machine. There was also a vending machine but he already decided to visit the diner again when he was finished and there were only this much luxuries he could afford. The magazines were mostly fashion and the newspapers were from at least two weeks ago but there was also one wrinkled up Time magazine and Dean sat down in one of the old plastic chairs under the heavy stares of the two women and went to read.

The man was the first who was finished, he silently dressed and left, all he owned apparently were the clothes on his back and Dean stared after him, wondering if that was his future. The women kept on giggling and chatting in their corner. Dean focused on his article about diamond exploits in Southern Africa.

A family walked in shortly after Dean had switched his laundry to a dryer and the father shot him a disapproving glance while the mother shielded her two son’s eyes and Dean rolled his eyes and ignored them too. 

His stomach was growling loudly when he was finally finished and he dressed with a sense of relief and was doubly glad that he had taken a decent shower this morning because he almost felt clean again. Almost. 

There were bad days and good days, and while the bad days felt like a ton of stones were pressing down on his chest the good days were days in which the pain merely a ghost. The sun was shining on a good day and he could even laugh or smile at some funny newspaper headline, when he didn’t feel suffocated by the city and its endless burning lights. But mostly it were days like this, when Dean would just feel empty and tired, would just try to get by, get some food, focus on getting his next trick to spend the night somewhere and do it all again the next day over and over again. 

It was a nice day, early afternoon, and Dean could look forward to a delicious meal, but eating had become a mere routine to him, something he needed to do but didn’t find any joy in anymore. Eating couldn’t help to fill in the emptiness in his heart. On days like this Dean felt almost dead inside.

He ordered a beer with his burger, feeling it owed to the nicely smiling waitress, who had given him change, not to start the day off with heavy liquor. And maybe he was still suffering slightly from his hangover and most of all he was haunted by the memory of prying fingers on his body mixed with a numbed mind and alcohol buzz and he didn’t want one feeling to trigger the other. 

The lunch buzz was already over by the time Dean had finished his burger and he figured the waitress wouldn’t mind if he stayed a while longer. He ordered a coffee and the waitress, whose name tag read Elli smiled at him in that way Dean could recognize from 100 feet away. 

Maybe he wouldn’t have to go to a bar to find a place to stay the night. It was still earl, but judging by the looks she gave him she wouldn’t kick him out any time soon. Dean ordered another coffee, already wishing he could fill it up with whiskey. 

Elli came by an hour later and sat on his table, leg brushing against his arm and she wasn’t shy at all with all the hints she threw him. But then Dean realized that she wanted a date, dinner and everything and he finished his coffee and ordered the check.

He could see the disappointment in her eyes but that was just the one thing Dean was good at. Being a fucking disappointment to everyone around him. Ellis slammed down the check and looked pointedly through him as he paid her, she didn’t even acknowledge his rather generous tip.

It didn’t matter.

Dean grabbed his duffel bag and went to leave, but before he could reach the door it slammed open and two masked men walked in. Dean froze and for a moment his mind was looping. One pulled out a knife while the other held a crowbar like a baseball bat. Someone screamed and the man with the knife yelled his orders and for a moment the whole place seemed to tip into chaos. 

He was close enough to see the men’s eye colors, could see the vein pulsing furiously on one of the men’s necks as they tried to regain control over the room. The other man yelled again and banged the crowbar against the wall, leaving a dent and then the other was in Dean’s personal space, jabbing a knife at him and he reacted on instinct. John’s insistence on teaching his sons how to fight army style finally coming to a use beyond bar brawls.

Dean dropped his bag and underwent the man’s arm, turning at the same time to ram his fist into the man’s stomach and he collapsed with a muffled groan, the knife clattering to the ground. There was a part of Dean that felt a tepid bitterness, because it was all muscle memory, yet he hadn’t been able to use any of it the day before. And that was only partly because he had been drunk.

The man with the crowbar came at him then and Dean leaped backwards but he had underestimated the reach of the weapon and it skimmed his arm, the sharp end ripping off his skin. Dean ducked for the knife then and came up in a crouching position, watching warily as the man he had hit in the stomach slowly struggled back on his feet. He rushed forward and knocked the hilt of the knife against its previous owner’s head and he collapsed again, this time silent and without getting back on his feet. The other had danced out of range. He handled his weapon like a brute but he definitely knew how to fight.

He came at Dean again, swinging his bar in a wide arch that didn’t allow Dean to get any closer and with his short stick of a knife he wasn’t going to any time soon. The man suddenly changed his tactics, coming at Dean with a speed he didn’t expect and he only saved himself by a hasty jump backwards that unfortunately landed him on his butt due to a knocked out body on the ground that tangled with his feet.

And that was it, his second close meet up with death in two days and he wasn’t any better prepared to face it than before. He should get up and fight, or run or just do something, but he was locked in place and all he could think of was Sam and how he must have felt in those last seconds before impact, before a metal bar was driven into his brain and knocked him into a coma he would never wake up from.

The bar came down at him but it froze at the last possible second and the man fell down with a sigh, knocked out with a frying pan that still dripped foam and water. He locked eyes with Elli. She smiled weakly and then dropped the frying pan on the ground.

“You’re welcome.” She said and flopped down on the nearest seat, taking a half-emptied beer from the table bottle and downing it in one go.

Dean was too stunned to move.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Saturday was supposed to be his day off, but then his boss had called because Joe had called in sick on top of Meg being on maternity leave and since Castiel was a workaholic with no social life he had been the first on Anne’s list to call. And Castiel had said yes before he remembered the man currently sleeping on his couch, but by then Anna had already hung up and Castiel didn’t want to call her back and explain the situation to her.

He felt torn about leaving Dean just like that but he had come to the conclusion that while he certainly lacked a decent self perseverance instinct, he wasn’t suicidal. There was still the matter of the attempted rape and Castiel definitely wouldn’t just let that go. Still, he wasn’t going to wake Dean and drag him to his precinct, there had to be a way Castiel could build a case without Dean present.

A thought that once examined completely awake didn’t seem so sound anymore but that was something Castiel only discovered much later. After he downed a generous amount of coffee.

So he went and got dressed and made a quick breakfast and wrote a note and left after one last lingering look towards the sleeping form on his couch. There was an oddly heavy feeling in his chest when he silently closed the door to his apartment. He wished he could see Dean again. For whatever reason his restlessness had settled the moment he had dragged Dean out of that alleyway.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

There was in fact nothing Castiel could do to build a case without Dean’s testimony, or rather without Dean pressing charges. It was some stupid bureaucracy bullshit about police procedure and him acting as a civilian, thus the only one who could press for charges was Dean. And Dean was no longer in Castiel’s apartment if the fact that he didn’t answer the landline meant anything.

Anna laid into him for acting alone on such a risk but at least she had the good graces to also praise his integrity. That didn’t stop her from sending him - and Joe’s partner Dirk since Balthazar was the last on Anna’s emergency replacement call list - on a shitty job involving Castiel’s favorite drug dealer and a very angry businessman who threatened to sue the police department for the damage the drug dealer had done to his car on his rather artistic escape attempt.

He was in a rather bad mood when he returned to the precinct station to do the required paperwork.  
And maybe that was just fate again, and maybe there had indeed been some profound connection between him and Dean, because just when he was about to clock out for the day, Dean was brought in among a group of witnesses and suspects pertaining a case of attempted robbery.

Castiel couldn’t help but think that this much coincidence couldn’t be, well, coincidence.

He did a quick inquiry and got a rundown of the situation from one of the officers involved and was relieved to learn that Dean was a witness and not a suspect. Two men had tried to rob a diner in which Dean had been currently present, but that same presence was also what threw a wrench into the robbers’ plans. 

The officers had arrived eight minutes after they had been called but the only thing left for them to do was arrest two unconscious men and take everyone’s testimony. But then Dean had turned out to have no home address in LA, or at all, and he had refused to give them any more details so they had packed him up and brought him into the station. 

With all his belongings in a duffel bag.

The decision after that was easy for Castiel. He went to Anna and explained the situation to her and after a hard stare and a longsuffering sigh she gave him permission, probably breaking a trillion stupid police protocols, but Anna was a good person by heart and if given the chance she would always help a person, even if she had to bend a few rules.

Dean was waiting in one of the interrogation rooms. He had his head in his hands and seemed exhausted but when Castiel entered he looked up. Castiel could see the surprise in his eyes when he took him in his police gear, could see how his eyes caught on the gun in its holster how his brows furrowed and then finally settled on an expression weirdly pulled between contempt and weariness.

“No social worker indeed.” He said, but there was no amiability in his voice. Only bitterness. Castiel inclined his head, but didn’t say anything in response. “What.” Dean said and it sounded almost snappish. “You going to arrest me now? Is helping people a crime now?” He was clearly unhappy but if it was because of mere stress and the situation or because he had a problem with authority figured Castiel couldn’t tell.

“We don’t plan to.” He said softly and inclined his head again, this time indicating the door. “Are you coming?” What he actually had meant to say was ‘You can come with me’ - an invitation - his mouth must have bypassed his brain and what came out was this.

“What?” Dean was still sitting but his face was now showing open signs of annoyance and Castiel supposed it wasn’t the first time Dean was ordered around by a police officer today. He sighed.

“You have two options.” Castiel forced his voice to be calm and amiable, but he felt his already short patience wearing out even more and he already regretted that he took on this responsibility. He had slept way too little that night and his patience was already too strained to begin with. “Either you stay here until the officer in charge decides what to do with you, or you can come with me and get a decent meal and a roof over your head.”

“They can’t lock me up.” Dean said defensively.

Castiel raised his eyebrows. “Homelessness has been outlawed in Los Angeles.” He said flatly. It was one of the few laws Castiel had no understanding for, and Anna tried to handle it with as much care as she could, but they were employees of the state and they had no right to decide what laws were good and which weren’t.

Dean gaped at him

“You can leave on your own of course, if you provide a home address and after we have validated it.” There was a strange following of emotions on Dean’s face after his words. He looked for a moment as if he wanted to say something but then his face fell and there was a hint of sadness and then only resignation.

“Or you can come with me.” Castiel said softly. 

“So why didn’t you arrest me yesterday?” Dean asked blankly, staring down at the table. 

“I didn’t want to.” Castiel said simply and Dean looked up at him. There was a strange accumulation of upset emotions on his face but then it all just dissolved and Dean hung his head.

“Alright.” He said tonelessly. 

He followed Castiel out of the interrogation room and then waited patiently outside the locker room until Castiel had changed and locked away his gun. Dean wasn’t happy about it and Castiel half expected him to bolt as soon as they were outside but he dropped his duffel bag into the trunk and then sat down in the passenger seat without so much as a word. 

Castiel was only glad that he had tomorrow off too, and this time Anna had promised not to call him in and on top of that had given him Monday off too. 

“When was the last time you ate something?” Castiel asked after he started the car.

Dean snorted. “Seriously? They pull me out of a diner and you ask me if I have eaten. Do I look that poor to you?” Castiel thought about the duffel bag currently resting in the trunk and how Dean didn’t have it with him the day before and how it must be to have your belongings stuffed into one measly bag. 

“No.” Castiel said without taking his eyes off the street. For some reason he didn’t want to see the anger in Dean’s face right now.” Apologies. I am hungry however but it can wait. What do you say to takeout?” It was an olive twig as much as a compromise and Castiel only hoped he would take it. 

“Whatever floats your boat man, I’m not picky.” The words didn’t sound angry, only kind of weary and annoyed and that, Castiel resolved, must count as a win. He decided though that now was not the right moment to breach the subject of Dean pressing charges against his attackers. Dean carried himself well but Castiel didn’t want to risk unbalancing him too soon. Patience, Balthazar liked to stress, was important after all when dealing with a victim. And something about overexposure but he didn’t remember that one too well.

He only hoped Anna wouldn’t be too mad when she learned that Dean was in fact the victim of the case Castiel had presented to her only a few hours before. She had been confused enough when Castiel spoke on Dean’s behalf but bought his excuse about him being an acquaintance well enough.

Castiel had no idea why he was going do far for a mere stranger.

 

**Chapter 5 - City of Truth**

Castiel, Dean had come to the - admittedly ignorant - conclusion, was a douche. At first he hadn’t seemed too bad, he had intervened when a stranger was in trouble after all and okay he had stuck his nose where it didn’t belong, but he had given Dean a place to sleep without asking for anything. And from an objective point of view that certainly was a good deed.

But Dean hadn’t asked for it, and seeing Castiel in his police garb and the way he carried himself with self confidence - a thing he usually was attracted to - just rubbed salt into that wound. Because Castiel was strong and had his life in order and Dean was weak and broken and needed saving like a fucking damsel in distress. And maybe his opinion was heavily biased but Dean was pissed at the world and at himself and Castiel had to stand in for both.

He had actually felt relief when he had realized that Castiel was a cop. As a cop it had been his duty to help Dean; he wasn’t some good Samaritan who saw a chance to do good in Dean or even had a personal interest in the matter. He’d merely done his job.

That was until Castiel walked into the interrogation room Dean had been waiting in. He might have been an idealistic cop who actually believed in ‘Protect and Serve’ but he’d prefer it if Castiel had picked someone else. Dean stared sullenly out of the window, the city whirred past in a blur of light and dark. He could have given them an address, but then they would have called his home to verify and then John would know where he was and he didn’t want that. Not that John would give a rat’s ass about that, Dean thought bitterly.

He had thought, briefly, of giving Bobby’s address but the old man would drive down to LA personally to pick him up and drag him back home. Dean wasn’t ready for that. He couldn’t face the truth that awaited him at home, the empty rooms of their house that held too many memories of too many dead people. He was afraid of the ghosts that he would find there. 

As much as Dean hated the thought of relying on someone else, especially a stranger, he felt he had no choice. He didn’t want to get arrested just because he couldn’t name a home address. He would have to pay Castiel back, even if he didn’t yet know how.

Dean only wished he would understand why Castiel was even doing this in the first place. He had no stake in this; Dean was a stranger to him and he owed him nothing. He only hoped Castiel wouldn’t turn out to have an ulterior motive. 

They reached the apartment and Dean quickly went out to get his bag, lest Castiel would get the idea to carry it for him. It was a small thing but Dean didn’t want him to think he couldn’t pull his own weight. He stood behind Castiel while he unlocked the door and now since he was sober and not in a rush to leave he could finally take in the surroundings. The apartment building was comparably small and the neighborhood looked nice and peaceful, apparently one of the better parts of LA.

It was getting late, the sun was dipping below the horizon and Dean realized that despite his earlier words, it had been quite some time since he had eaten. He cleared his throat. “So about takeout.”

Even in the dim light of the corridor lamp he could see the faint smug smirk on Castiel’s lips. “What do you want?” Castiel asked as he unlocked his front door. Dean glared at him.

“Chinese.” He decided and Castiel disappeared into the kitchen only to return with a colorful leaflet covered in pictures and Chinese script. “Pick what you want.” He said and dropped it on the coffee table. The couch was still pulled open with the bed sheets neatly folded on top of the backrest. Dean had failed to put together the awful contraption that was Castiel’s pullout couch, so he cleaned up as best as possible and then left it at that.

“I’ll pay for it myself.” Dean insisted as he picked up the leaflet.

“Suit yourself,” was the aloof reply and Dean dropped down on the couch-bed with a sigh. He felt petty for acting like that but he had just no idea how to behave in a situation like this. So much had happened today that Dean was barely able to keep up. He felt anxious and out of his depth and on top of that thinking about Sam earlier today had rekindled all the pain. 

Takeout suddenly didn’t seem like such a good idea.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°° 

They got takeout anyway. Dean was hungry and he didn’t exactly have regular meals during the last weeks. He actually welcomed the chance at having a decent meal on a table that didn’t have the remnants of thousand other meals stuck to its surface. Castiel even let him pay for his own meal and Dean felt decidedly better afterwards. He might have to rely on Castiel for the time being but he wasn’t going to be a burden.

Castiel thankfully didn’t force a conversation but now that the table was cleared from their meal Dean felt vaguely uncomfortable. This wasn’t his home and he didn’t know what to do now; it was too early to go to bed and it wasn’t like he could just go and watch TV. He considered asking but before he could decide, Castiel spoke up.

“What would you like to do now Dean?” There was something peculiar in how Castiel said his name, like it was something special that needed to be cherished. Dean swallowed. He remembered the day before when he had thought Castiel had brought him home to have sex and now there was this strange energy between them and Dean had to remind himself forcefully that he didn’t like Castiel.

“I don’t know. What do you do in your free time?” Dean didn’t have to look around the apartment to remember all the blank spaces, the well worn books being the only exception. Even the TV looked brand new as if it had barely been used.

Castiel shrugged and it seemed strangely stilted. “I like to read mostly, sometimes I go out but I prefer the quiet of my home.” Somehow Dean wasn’t the least bit surprised.

“What about the TV?” Castiel glanced at it and shrugged again. 

“A friend of mine insisted on gifting it to me but I have little use for it. He said it would help me better my understanding of humanity.”

“Okay.” Dean said blankly. “He wasn’t vain, not by a long shot, but a friend who gifted expensive monster TVs to a friend who didn’t appreciate it was… well he didn’t even have words for what exactly that was. But maybe the fact that pulled him down wasn’t the luxurious waste, but the fact that Castiel had a friend like that who obviously cared while all Dean had to show for was a family he had run away from and no job, no home and a car that could never substitute for human contact.

The truth was ugly, especially when faced with the neat and tidy home of some perfect stranger who had his life in order and who was even too good to lay a hand Dean. The bitter part of him wondered if he dropped down right now and sucked Castiel off if he’d still be too good for Dean or if he’d ended up to be just as depraved as everyone else. But mostly he was just tired.

He realized that Castiel was staring at him, head slightly tilted and a confused frown on his face. Dean took a deep breath and let it out between his teeth. It wasn’t fine - it was never fine - but he would get through this evening, spend the night, get some decent rest and tomorrow he’d be on his way and everything would be back to its sad little normal. 

“We can watch some TV if you like.” Castiel proposed and Dean got the feeling he did it mainly to appease Dean. And oddly enough, Dean appreciated it.

“Okay.” Dean said and followed Castiel into the living room where he watched him fold that hellish contraption of a couch together - it looked fucking easy - before he dropped down with a sigh. “Got any beer?” 

“I’m afraid not.” Castiel replied and turned on the TV. He picked up the remote and held it out to him. Dean gladly took charge and switched channels a few times until he found a documentary about electronics from the eighties and he settled back comfortably. Castiel sat next to him, close but with a decent gap between them and the whole thing was strangely companionable. Like they were old friends meeting up for their weekly football game.

The documentary ended and another one about the rise and fall of the Chinese Empire started and Dean idly thought that this was actually panning out well. Castiel was a pleasant companion, he commented here and there, acknowledged Dean’s comments with a nod or a hum and he had gone and fetched some apple juice, water and a bag of pretzel sticks in the short break between the two documentaries.

Oddly, it felt more like a home than his own had in a long time. Like he was actually welcome here.

And didn’t that thought hurt.

The Chinese Empire rose and fell in front of them but Dean wasn’t really paying attention. The necklace around his neck felt strangely heavy and he had the strong urge to just roll into a ball and shut the world out. Some days weren’t just bad but actually felt like it was impossible to go on. He felt weighed down with all his repressed emotions until he could barely move.

He didn’t want today to become such a day.

“I’d like to ask you something.” Castiel said after the documentary was over and something about deep sea diving had started. Dean turned to look at Castiel who was staring down at his hands where he twirled a pretzel stick between his fingers. They didn’t have salt on them but sesame and Dean suddenly wished fiercely he’d had these as a kid.

Sammy would have loved them.

“Yeah.” Dean said and his voice was hoarse and he took his glass and drank his juice but the tight feeling in his throat didn’t disappear. 

“Why did you come to Los Angeles?” Castiel was leaning back casually, but his eyes were focused on Dean with an intensity that was almost unsettling. Dean couldn’t help but notice how otherworldly blue they were.

“What makes you think I wasn’t born here?” Dean asked, looking back at the television but he could still feel the weight of Castiel’s gaze. Castiel actually chuckled.

“I am a police officer Dean. I know how to spot an outsider.” 

Dean exhaled on a huff. “Is that all I am? An outsider?” He looked back at Castiel, eyebrows raised and with more venom in his voice than he meant to put in there. 

“No.” Castiel said solemnly. “Even with what little I know I can already tell that you are....” He looked at Dean for a moment, searching for the right word. “…exceptional.” He said it with so much sincerity that Dean was stunned for a moment. He didn’t know how to react. There was no precedence to that; no one had ever looked at him like that, like he’d already proven himself by just being himself. Sammy used to have a similar look sometimes, back when they were younger.

But Sammy was gone and the memories that were left tasted bitter on Dean’s tongue.

He had to look away then, because Castiel wasn’t Sammy and he had no reason to value Dean anything more than a stranger.

“Right.” he said eventually and his voice was rough and raw like he had just been laid bare. But there was no strength in the word, no faith behind it and Castiel knew that.

“What’s the matter with you?” Castiel asked, curiously like it was an interesting puzzle he truly wanted to solve and Dean was drawn back to look at him. He swallowed once, Castiel’s blue gaze had somehow increased in intensity and now he was trapped in it. Like Castiel wasn’t going to let him go until he had his answer. “You are like a deer in headlight, too afraid to move even if that would save your life.”

Dean couldn’t help the short bout of angry laughter that burst from his mouth. “Who made you the expert?” 

“What happened to you?” Castiel ignored his question. “It’s like you no longer care what happens to you.” Castiel frowned and Dean could see the moment the thought hit. “You’ve given up.” It wasn’t even a question anymore.

“It’s none of your business.” Dean snapped and he fled right into that anger, because it was hot and seething and it burned away everything else. 

“It is.” Castiel said with surprising force, and Dean almost reeled back. “You’ve been assaulted.” Dean flinched involuntarily, but Castiel’s icy glare kept him from replying. “And you didn’t even try to fight back.” He was calm again, but it was merely a façade, Dean could feel the anger seething underneath. Unlike his own though, it burned cold.

“What’s it to you?” Dean said and his rage filled the words with heat but Castiel didn’t even flinch. They both knew his anger was hollow.

“Dean-“ 

“Look.” Dean cut in, fists clenched in his lap as he tried to hold on to the rage, lest the walls he so carefully built would crumble under Castiel’s relentless stare. “It’s none of your business. I am a big boy and I can take care of myself and what I do with my life is my and only my decision.” Dean was glaring at Castiel now who was evenly meeting his stare but then his expression softened and Dean’s anger vanished just like that. He didn’t have the energy left to uphold it; he was just so goddamn tired.

Castiel’s voice was soft when he replied. “I know that. I’m not saying you are weak. But do you really want to throw your life away just like that?” And Dean could have taken his anger any day, could have taken his judgment, even pity, but there was nothing he could say to this. He simply had no answer.

Dean was looking down, unable to meet Castiel’s eyes and tongue tied by his own raging doubts. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t even know if there was anything left for him to say. Castiel sighed but it sounded more sad than annoyed. He was leaning forward and into Dean’s line of sight, making sure Dean was looking at him when he spoke.

“You’re obviously running away from something. And you’re right; it’s none of my business. But I care Dean, I care about you. It is not my place to tell you what to do, so I can only beg you. Don’t just go out there and give yourself away because you think it will give you what you want. It won’t, all it will do is get you killed. But let me tell you something about death Dean. It is painful and messy and you can’t want that. No matter how hopeless you think your life is.” 

For a moment Dean saw Sam’s face in front of him, white as a sheet, hair as neatly styled as it never was in life and how lost he had seemed inside that big coffin, all his size swallowed up between polished oak and pale white linen. He hadn’t looked messy or in pain, he had looked clean and sterile, like a doll, lifeless and perfect.

Castiel slid back and Dean could breathe again, only his chest was tight and then his eyes were burning and he was crying. Why was he crying? He hadn’t cried since Sam’s funeral, so why now, why at all? Tears didn’t change anything, they only weighed him down. 

The tears just kept flowing for a while and Dean stopped trying to fight them. There was no point anyway; sometimes emotions just had to run their futile course. Castiel didn’t say anything, didn’t try to comfort him and Dean was thankful. He pulled himself together eventually and Castiel wordlessly handed him a box of tissues. Dean wiped away his tears and while he still felt puffy and wrung out, he also inexplicably felt better.

He looked up at Castiel who sat patiently next to him, waiting and giving Dean the space he needed. And Dean suddenly realized that Castiel didn’t try to force him into making a decision. He had merely laid out his point of view and now it was up to Dean to work through that. Dean wondered if maybe Castiel wasn’t so bad after all. He would have been angry only a few minutes ago, angry at Castiel for poking his nose where it didn’t belong, for forcing this outburst out of Dean but now he felt mainly exhausted and strangely relieved. 

“May I take a shower?” He still had the faint sensation of his skin crawling and he felt like he needed to wash off this conversation and all the feelings it had pulled to the surface. But most of all the needed the time to think through it, to come to a decision or at least work towards one.

Castiel gave him a long inquiring look but then bowed his head as if he had come to a conclusion. “Of course.” Like he understood that Dean merely needed time. 

Castiel led him to the bathroom and he gracefully overlooked the towel Dean had hung up to dry this morning and got him a new one. Dean was too drained to complain the special treatment, the obvious care Castiel showed by bringing him the same set of sleep wear he wore the other night and how he lingered, cranking up the heat to make sure Dean was comfortable before he left.

For a moment Dean was tempted to invite Castiel into the shower to repay him the only way he knew, but he wouldn’t be able to do that now even if he wanted to. He stared blankly at the door for a moment after Castiel had left, wondering if he’d ever be able to pick up a stranger and let him fuck him again without imagining Alastair’s hands on him.

Suddenly he felt very cold.

The shower wasn’t as satisfying as he’d hoped, his thoughts kept circling and he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he’d hit a dead end in his life. He couldn’t go on like this, there wouldn’t be a helpful cop at hand to save him the next time and Dean, as desperate and lost as he felt, really didn’t want to die.

He closed his eyes, the hot water beating down on him relentlessly, but the answer still wouldn’t come.

It felt like ages had passed since this morning when he had stood in that very same spot.

He had come to this city, he realized now, with a death wish. He had sought his end with every casual fuck without protection, with every sleazy guy he followed to his home and with every drink he had accepted without checking it for drugs. At the time it had seemed like the only thing he could do, the only thing that seemed right but in truth it was merely an escape from reality. He was a coward.

He had lost his brother and as a consequence he had thrown his life away.

But the truth was much simpler than that. He was weak. He couldn’t live without his brother. Only that wasn’t true. He could live without Sam, had in fact lived without him for the last few years because he was a fucking coward who couldn’t get over himself and forgive Sam for leaving him. He merely couldn’t live with the shame and guilt he felt.

Dean hit his fist against the shower wall.

The pain was harsh, a sharp bite, and yet it felt like it would never be enough. There was blood on the tiles, only a few drops the water quickly washed away, but his fingers hurt like he had broken them in two. But the pain in his body wasn’t enough to take away the pain in his heart. No matter what he did, it would never be enough.

Dean stepped out of the shower feeling worse than before. The crying earlier had helped but it had also dislodged a whole landslide of stashed away emotions and painful truths. He had quite frankly no idea where to go from here.

And that was also why he decided that maybe it wouldn’t hurt to accept Castiel’s offer.

Castiel was waiting for him in the living room, sitting on the couch. He looked up when Dean entered and he paused in the doorway. He hadn’t cried in front of someone in years and suddenly he felt rather awkward. Castiel was a stranger he barely knew for longer than a day and already he had saved Dean’s life, got his ass out of almost-prison and had seen him lose it completely and bawl his eyes out. Castiel scooted slightly over on the couch, a complete pointless action since there was plenty of space but Dean felt the awkwardness ease up.

“Thanks for the shower.” Dean said after he had sat down and Castiel acknowledged him with a nod.

“So.” Dean said after a while of blankly staring at the screen and watching a young bear trot after his mother in some nature documentary. “What’s your story?” Castiel looked up at him, eyes drawn together in a squint and then he tilted his head as if he was trying to read something out of the lines on Dean’s face.

“What… story?” He asked slowly, eyes squinting even harder.

Dean shrugged. “I don’t know, why’d you become a cop for instance?” The thing he wanted to ask for real though was ‘why did you save me?’

Castiel stared at him for a moment longer before his expression relaxed again. “There is no story worth telling.” He said, but it seemed more an honest attempt at a truthful answer than deterrence. “I guess it was what I always wanted to do. You know, helping people.” He was staring at Dean and somehow his eyes had the focus of a laser beam and Dean could just as easily read the answer to the question he hadn’t asked. 

“So you ended up being a cop in Los Angeles.” Dean surmised and to his surprise Castiel openly laughed at that. It was a strange sound, oddly soothing and it pulled at Dean’s lips like his face actually wanted to join in.

He hadn’t laughed or smiled genuinely in weeks. 

“It seems an odd choice indeed.” Castiel had the strangest of smiles. It was barely there, just a slight upwards tilt of his lips and his eyes were shining and warm and Dean could look at them forever and never grow tired of it. “But I have to start somewhere so why not in the most wretched of places?” There was a solemn note in his voice but also a lightness that had Dean instinctively lean closer.

There was more to Castiel than he had initially presumed and the more time he spent with him the more Dean thought he might have made a rather hasty prejudiced judgment. 

“I try my best to help where I can.” Castiel continued and he was still staring at Dean and there it was again that way Castiel had about him, conveying a message with his eyes and the flick of tongue around a word like there was so much more he said than just what could be carried in that one sentence. Dean swallowed. 

He abruptly leaned back and cleared his throat. On the TV the mother had lost sight of her young cub and as nature went she moved on and never looked back. Dean suddenly envied her.

So it goes, Vonnegut would say. Indeed, so it goes.

“Are you tired?” Castiel asked and he was still friendly and even warm, but Dean reminded himself that this was temporary, he would leave tomorrow and never look back like mother bear and he would find a way like he always had. He wouldn’t let himself be lulled in by the warmth and peacefulness Castiel exuded. 

Later when he was tucked in his empty couch bed Dean realized that for some inexplicable reason he wanted to stay. Despite the tears and despite the near breakdown in the shower and the heaviness he felt ever since then, he had felt safe. And as much as it went against his inner beliefs, being cared for had felt good, because Castiel did it in a quiet and unobtrusive way that had it seem like the most natural thing in the world.

And Dean’s life had been so unstable and erratic during the last few weeks, never knowing where he would spend the night, counting every penny he spent, because maybe next time hustling, he wouldn’t be so lucky and the terrible uprooted feeling of having no home and no safe haven he could return to other than a car in a cold and drafty storage space.

A car that had carried him this far on a stupid impromptu caricature of a road trip. 

He’d thought about making a road trip more than once but that was something he had planned to do with Sammy after he graduated from high school. He had it all mapped out, even marked down motels they could stay in, even bought one of those stupid national park booklet thingies to mark down what they’d seen and all, but then Sam had revealed his plans for Stanford and John had kicked him out and Dean had been left sitting on his plans and no reason to go.

So he stayed where he was, because LA was a Moloch that swallowed everything, even one runaway failure of a brother. And it had swallowed him, until there was little left of the man who had left Lawrence all that time ago. And now here he was, on the living room couch of a stranger and he felt a strange sense of peace he hadn’t felt in a long while.

Maybe Castiel really wasn’t so bad after all.

That night he dreamed of Sam again.

 

**Chapter 6 - City of Life**

Castiel half expected Dean to be gone the next morning. He didn’t seem the type to simply accept charity, his attempt at paying Castiel with his body had proven that. Even though Castiel hadn’t realized that immediately at that moment. Dean had a deeply ingrained sense of independence, it was evident in the way he kept a tight leash on his emotions, how unwilling he had been to even consider coming with Castiel.

So he was pleasantly surprised when he walked into his kitchen and found Dean sitting at the table with two steaming mugs of coffee and breakfast for the two of them. He still wore the clothes Castiel had given him and there was something about that look that made Castiel pause. The pajama bottoms were old and worn, too loose for Castiel and also hanging rather low on Dean’s well formed hip. The shirt however was too tight and Castiel could make out the lines of Dean’s torso. But it wasn’t just the obvious aesthetic advantage his clothes on Dean provided; it was the fact that they were _his_. 

It was utterly strange.

Dean looked up at him, face pulled into a confused frown at Castiel still standing in his own kitchen door and staring rather awkwardly at Dean’s chest. Castiel could feel the faint warmth of a blush on his cheeks. Dean cleared his throat and pointed at the table. “I… uh… made breakfast.” Dean shrugged awkwardly and shoved one of the cups in Castiel’s direction.

Castiel sat down on the other chair, took the cup and inhaled the sweet invigorating scent of coffee. He wasn’t exactly a morning person; his day usually only started after he got his first cup of coffee and somehow Dean had managed to make it exactly right. 

“I hope you don’t mind that I used your stuff.” Dean fumbled with his cup and Castiel wondered what had happened to make Dean this awkward. He had had no qualms using Castiel’s stuff the day before, even without him present. 

And that was it. The morning after, the thing Dean must have avoided like a pest, and yet here he was, sitting awkwardly in Castiel’s kitchen, preparing breakfast and trying to make conversation. Castiel felt the strong urge to smile, even though he himself couldn’t tell what about. He was just glad that Dean was still here.

“Thank you Dean.” Castiel said sincerely and Dean - who had been rambling quietly - shut his mouth with an audible click.

“Okay.” He said, and it was as much for his own benefit as Castiel’s. 

Dean had gone all out with the breakfast, scrambled eggs and bacon and a couple of French toasts, but he’d also pulled out sausages and thrown them in with the bacon and even a couple of hash browns. It was more than Castiel usually would eat for breakfast and it lacked a side of fruit completely, but for some reason it tasted way better than his usual morning meal.

“What would you like to do today?” Castiel asked once he was finished. He had noticed that Dean was twitchy and he ate his portion only halfheartedly. Something must have been on his mind. Castiel had an inkling as to what that was.

Dean stared at him hard for a moment, eyes drawn together before he dropped his gaze back to his half-eaten meal. “Anything is fine.” He finally said, but it sounded strained. Castiel could tell that Dean was working through something, but was too wrought up to get his thoughts together. And that he was able to read that out of Dean was remarkable in itself.

“Alright.” He said lightly but didn’t make a move to get up. He had no idea how to handle this, but giving Dean the time to work through his issues seemed to be a good start. Dean looked up at him, met his gaze and quickly looked down again. He swallowed audibly.

“I thought about what you said yesterday.” This, Castiel realized was crucial. He wanted to ask what exactly Dean was referring to but he could instinctively tell that Dean would clamp up if he spoke now. So he held his tongue and tried to be as comforting and as little invasive as possible.

“I…” Dean trailed off, swallowed, tried again and got exactly as far as the first time. He rubbed a hand over his neck, sighing frustrated. “Fuck, why is this so hard?” Castiel said nothing. 

“This obviously isn’t easy for me.” Dean was looking up at him now, visibly pulled together and Castiel inclined his head to show he was listening. “I don’t like asking for help, not even my family, so this is a big first for me.” He paused and thought for a moment before he continued. “You were right. I was running away. I am running away. I just… I don’t know where to go.” There was something else in his words, something he wasn’t ready or able to say yet but Castiel understood enough to know that this was a huge step for Dean. And also a proof of trust.

“That’s alright Dean. You can stay as long as you like.” Castiel said and somehow it was the right thing because he could see the tension flow visibly out of Dean. The relief was so obvious Castiel could have scraped it off his face.

“I’m not going to freeload.” He quickly added and Castiel didn’t fight the smile that tugged at his lips. He also didn’t miss the way Dean’s eyes darted towards his lips as they pulled upwards. “I’ll find work and pay you rent and do groceries and-“

“Dean.” Castiel leaned forward slightly to get Dean’s attention. “It’s fine. We can work something out. Just get settled first.” 

And that, how they say, was that.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Living with Cas was easy. They fell into a routine with each other almost instantly. Dean would usually take over cooking while Cas did the dishes afterwards. Dean also did most of the other chores since he had the time and felt like he owed it to Cas who refused him covering part of the rent until he found a proper job.

Dean had gotten the Impala the day after that first lazy Sunday they spent together, and Cas had given him a look but didn’t say anything about him owning an eccentric car but no home to go with it. 

Cas had a quiet way to worm himself under Dean’s barriers, maybe even more so than Sammy had had. He wasn’t intrusive about it, he never pushed Dean more than he could take, but he very firmly worked him towards pressing charges against Alastair and his friends. It was, how he insisted, a therapeutic step and Dean would have fought him teeth and nails on that, but somehow Cas had made it sound like the absolute right thing to do.

Maybe he was just incredibly manipulative.

He had taken Dean personally to his station and after he had received what must have been an epic tongue lashing from his boss - a chill redhead who later treated Dean to beer - personally took his statement along with his partner. And it was then Dean had realized how right Cas had been. He’d been barely able to form words around the lump in his throat as he described the incident, but afterwards he felt conceivably better, like he’d just thrown up the thing that upset his stomach.

Anna later told him that while they certainly would keep an eye out, chances were slim of actually finding the guys. A name, even one as unique as Alastair was not much to go by, especially since it might be a fake. And neither Dean nor Cas’ descriptions had held much detail. And that was the point where Dean decided he liked Anna, she didn’t try to console him or even commend him on ‘how brave’ he was. Instead she treated him like she would any other person. Dean was immensely grateful for that.

And so the first two weeks of their impromptu rooming passed and to Dean it already felt like they had been at it for years. He was loath to admit it, but Cas gave him a feeling of belonging, like this was truly his home and had always been.

Some days Dean had to forcefully remind himself that this was only temporary. That he would get out once he stood on his own two feet, but until then it was easy to forget that he and Cas barely knew each other for more than two weeks. 

It was Sunday and Cas was on duty, but his shift would be ending soon and Dean was busy making dinner. He had tried to look for a job, but with only so much success. The economic situation was bad right now, and the city was flooded with young delusional men and women trying to live their dream and taking up all the waiter and manual labor jobs in the process.

And since Dean still refused to contact home, he couldn’t even use his qualifications as a mechanic, and no one wanted to hire a “wannabe car-lover” and Dean was nearing the point he would just drive over with his baby and let his work speak for him. But until then he was going to spoil Cas rotten with food and doing laundry and groceries and everything else that needed to be done.

He could need the distraction. Dean had learned early on that doing nothing wasn’t good for him. When he was younger it had often gotten him into trouble, because boredom was a bad companion for a resourceful teenager with little to no regard for authorities, except his father. Grown up he had dialed back on the trouble making, but then ennui often held invitations for introspect and Dean had never been good in facing what he was so apt at shoving away.

And then Sam had died and now he had to busy his mind somehow, anyhow, to stave off the memories, the guilt and the whole pile of pain and self-loathing that threatened to tumble down on him whenever he neared it. Before Cas it had been alcohol and sex, now it was cooking and cleaning. There were days when the whole development his coping mechanisms had gone through could have made him laugh.

Dean had the radio playing, because making pizza was a no-brainer mostly and he desperately needed the distraction, even if it was only intense listening to classic rock songs. It wasn’t so bad when Cas was home, then it was almost too easy to forget sometimes and he could just fall into their pleasant companionship. But without Cas he was reminded of was no longer a part of his life and the gaping hole it had left in his heart.

He watched a lot of television during those times, scoured the papers and the net for jobs, anything, but in some moments the amulet around his neck seemed to weigh him down until he could barely move. But then the door would open and Cas would step in and Dean would go to greet him and ridiculously feel like a fifties housewife welcoming her husband. It was fine though, because Cas’ presence had a way of soothing him.

It had started, Dean couldn’t have said when exactly, but ever since then they kept touching each other. It was random at first, a bump of shoulders, a lingering touch when passing an item, a brush of hands, but Dean found he equally as much craved those contacts than he found excuses to initiate them. 

Cas hovering over him while he was preparing food in the kitchen. Dean sitting down too closely on the folded up couch so their knees were touching. Cas’ fingers brushing and lingering against his when taking his morning coffee from Dean. Staring that went way beyond appropriate eye contact. Small things mostly, but Dean found comfort in them.

He knew he should probably think about their meaning, but he was comfortable ignoring the implications. Cas made him feel good without all the guilt that usually came, and Dean craved that feeling of wellbeing. The hole in his heart didn’t seem as big and gaping whenever Cas was close, and Dean could forget, even if only for a few moments, why he had ended up in LA of all places.

Cas got off at five, but depending on what happened on that day, he sometimes came home much later. But with a thoughtfulness that was entirely new to Dean, he always called to inform Dean of his lateness when it would be more than half an hour. After years of John randomly disappearing for days without a word and then reappearing just as randomly, drunk off his ass and smelling of vomit and piss, had taught Dean that people were many things, but not reliable. He hadn’t called today though, so Dean put the pizza into the oven a bit after five and set the timer to twenty minutes. 

The best thing at cooking for Cas were his reactions. Cas had a rather strange eating habit. Breakfast was rich and healthy with a lot of care poured into its preparation, but for all the other meals of the day, Cas lived from microwave food and tin cans. So when Dean first had surprised him with a plate of freshly cooked macaroni and cheese, he’d been delighted.

And Dean had realized that he would do much more to see that smile again.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Castiel had a problem. And that problem was named Dean Winchester, had enthralling green eyes and currently lived on his living room couch. Somehow wanting to help Dean out of a tight spot had transitioned into wanting to help Dean get his life back on track and that subsequently transitioned into wanting to be with Dean.

He had never considered himself as lonely, what little friends he had were dear and while his last relationship lay a few years back, he didn’t exactly miss it. But Dean had reminded him of how it used to be, how it could be to have someone close, someone to share everything with. And Castiel wanted that. With Dean.

He didn’t even know how that had happened.

Dean still carried a burden from his past - this much Castiel could tell - but he also had this incredibly sweet side to him, his smile - however rare - was infectious and Castiel was suffused by a strange warm feeling whenever Dean was close. He sought out that closeness, found excuses to touch Dean, to linger and look at him whenever he could. 

Castiel knew, he was about to fall in love with Dean Winchester.

The day had been long; Balthazar had gotten some intel a few days earlier on a human trafficking ring that specified in pre-adolescents and their gig about to go down in a rundown hotel on the edge of the city. Castiel had had the unfortunate duty to sight the evidence found on their servers after they had successfully arrested the lot. He felt sick and dirty and craved a shower above anything else. 

But the closer he came to his home, the more he found he relaxed, the mere thought of Dean waiting with another meal of delicious home cooked goodness was doing a good job on pulling his mood around. He found more solace in the fact that he could relax in Dean’s company than that they put a stop to the traffickers’ actions. They were one organization among many others, still free to do as they please. 

He pulled into his parking space in front of the apartment building. He paid an extra monthly fee to have a spot reserved specifically for him, but considering the cramped space in Los Angeles it was worth every penny. It was still warm outside, autumn in full swing, and if the previous years were anything to go by it would stay like that for quite a while. Inside his apartment he was greeted by the delicious smell of tomatoes and something baking in the oven and if he deduced correctly, Dean was making pizza.

Castiel quickly pulled off his shoes and walked over to look into the kitchen and indeed there was a pizza in the oven and another one waiting to be put in on the stove. Dean called over from the living room where he lay splayed out on the couch, watching some cartoon and Castiel took a luxurious moment just to watch him.

Dean looked better than he had when Castiel had met him. Not just because of his now sober state but also because his clothes had lost that ragged look of being worn for too long with little access to a washing machine. Which was mainly because they were Castiel’s clothes. It had been either that or Castiel buying Dean an entire set of new clothes which Dean had stubbornly refused. Castiel secretly preferred this look anyway.

His face had also lost the constantly exhausted expression and he was looking way more healthy and whole. But Castiel didn’t miss the weariness that still lingered in his eyes and the way his every move sometimes seemed to drag like he was held down by a great weight. But right now he seemed relaxed and at ease, and just looking at him made Castiel almost forget about his horrible day. Almost.

“How long until the pizza is ready?” Castiel asked after greeting Dean properly. Dean shrugged.

“Fifteen minutes.” He was leaning back into the couch so he could look at Castiel, expression open and unguarded and Castiel wished with a sudden fierceness he could keep that look there forever. “I decked the table already but if you want to watch TV I can put it on the coffee table.” Dean offered with another shrug.

“Whatever you prefer.” Castiel said and Dean rolled his eyes, while maintaining that sweet small smile he’d carried from almost the moment Castiel had walked in sight. 

“I prefer you giving me a decided answer for once.” He said but there was no bite behind it. Castiel reflected that he must have left a lot of choices to Dean recently. It just seemed the natural thing to do.

“Then we can eat in the living room.” Castiel said with a knowing smile. Dean never complained but Castiel knew he preferred the company of the television while eating. It wasn’t even that he ignored Castiel, on the contrary, he seemed to be even more engaged in conversation, but something about the constant background noise put him at ease. Castiel wondered if Dean came from a big family.

Dean beamed up at him. “Awesome.”

“I’ll go and take a quick shower then.” Castiel said and Dean only waved into his vague direction as he was already getting up to relocate the dishes. It wasn’t unusual for Castiel to shower right after work, and Dean had neatly accepted it into his evening food routine. As he had the rather early time for dinner that came with Castiel barely eating anything for lunch and them both being hungry at the point when Castiel came home. And an early dinner allowed for a late evening snack, a routine Castiel had become rather fond of.

He quickly went into his bedroom to fetch his pajamas to change in after the shower. Evenings with Dean were lazy, mostly consisting of lounging on the couch, either reading or watching television or sometimes both at once and since Castiel was taking his clothes off anyway, he prepared to change into something comfortable right away. 

The shower was rather short and Castiel only took enough time to scrub himself clean thoroughly without bothering with washing his hair. Being close to Dean had diminished most of his uneasiness leftover from the day’s job, but he still preferred the clean feeling of scrubbed skin after a day like this. It made it easier to disconnect from the horrors he had to see sometimes, made it easier to compartmentalize work away from private life. 

Dean had just pulled the pizza out of the oven and was putting the second one in when Castiel came from the bathroom. He had noticed that Dean, with decreased subtlety, liked to sneak looks at him. Castiel had seriously contemplated to just walk out with a towel around his waist but he feared that his own inappropriate reaction would cause their comfortable balance to collapse.

He liked having Dean here and he didn’t want the easy friendship they had going to end because he couldn’t keep a leash on his emotions. So while he was halfway testing the limits between them he also was hell bent on keeping their relationship working and if he had to keep it platonic between them so be it. There was no reason for Dean to be interested in him anyway, and thinking back on that first night he had brought him here, Castiel wondered if Dean would reciprocate solely out of a feeling of misplaced obligation.

But then Dean’s eyes not so subtly followed him on his way into the living room, focused especially on his low-slung pajama pants and Castiel wasn’t so sure about that anymore. There was an attraction between them, but Castiel hadn’t yet been able to pinpoint if it was purely sexual or something more.

He had also failed to determine if he would actually mind if Dean’s interests in him were merely sexual. Castiel **liked** Dean, but he also would like to bend him over the nearest surface and fuck him senseless. It was a dilemma Castiel had yet to solve, until then he would continue to be as inappropriate as he could get away with and desperately hope that Dean’s reactions were genuine and not just what he thought Castiel wanted.

And while Castiel didn’t exactly know what he effectively wanted from Dean on a personal level, he knew with certainty that he wanted to help him. He wasn’t going to pry for answers though, so his companionship and continued support would have to do until Dean confided in him of his own will.

Castiel poured them both a glass of water from the bottle Dean had put on the table while Dean carried in the pizza tray and put it down on a laid out towel on the coffee table. He’d already cut it up into slices and Castiel smiled at the assortments of toppings. 

“That looks delicious.” He commented as Dean shoved a piece on his plate. Dean’s grin was easy and open and Castiel wondered when that had happened. Not so long ago Dean had scarcely ever smiled and most of his grins had been an obvious fake, but this one seemed truly genuine. It made a warm fluttering feeling settle in his chest.

He would be fine with something sexual Castiel decided then, but what he really wanted was Dean’s heart. And he would do everything in his power to make Dean see how good they could be for each other.

 

**Chapter 7 - City of a Billion Lights**

Dean loved food. And Cas, so it seemed, loved eating Dean’s food. He spent an entire evening over spaghetti with ham and cheese telling Cas about his many favorite TV shows, which somehow ended in a rather prolonged monologue about the merits of one Han Solo. Cas had been listening avidly while chewing on his spaghettis.

They discussed books the next evening over Cordon Bleu and the next while they were having Steak and the night after that Dean made Lasagna and Cas read him quotes from his favorite book. And with every night, every meal, they seemed to get closer and closer.

Today Dean was making one of his specialties, hamburgers. He’d gotten all the ingredients and prepared them from scratch; he’d even gone ahead and added tomato bits and salad to the onions on top.

It had this whole happy housewife atmosphere to it but strangely enough, Dean didn’t mind. Cas, and by extension his home, gave him a sense of peace; it helped to keep the memories away. Dean barely dreamed of Sam anymore and even during the day his thoughts were mostly peaceful.

He felt at ease here, safe. 

Dean smiled to himself, even as the onions made his eyes flow over with tears. He felt lighter than he had in months, like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He finally felt like he could breathe again.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Cas brought beer when he came home. Dean had diligently kept away from any alcohol, but Cas must have decided he had earned some and that was good enough for Dean.

“What’s the occasion?” Dean asked with n easy smile. He followed close behind Cas, and he didn’t even pause once to investigate this desire to be close to him. It just seemed so natural.

“It has been a month since you moved in.” Cas said lightly, but Dean didn’t miss how Cas’ eyes lingered on his face to gauge his reaction.

Dean grinned. “Is it? I didn’t even notice.” Cas smiled right back at him. “I made burgers.” Dean felt inexplicably giddy, close to bouncing on his feet. It was strange. It were only little things but he hadn’t been happy in such a long time that this small bit felt like he’d just climbed a mountain.

Cas put the beers on the counter, still smiling as he inspected Dean’s work. Dean had just finished piling up the burgers and was now busying himself with pulling the fries from the oven. 

“They look delicious.” Cas observed as Dean distributed the fries evenly on the two plates. He pulled the bottle opener from the drawer and tossed it to Cas before he went to fetch the ketchup from the fridge.

“They’re my specialty. I used to make them for-“ Dean caught himself, before he mentioned Sam. He hadn’t told Cas about him, only vaguely mentioned a brother here and there but always made sure to quickly change the topic. He wasn’t ready. “-my family.” He continued instead, hoping desperately Cas wouldn’t notice the too long pause.

Dean didn’t look up as he put a generous helping of ketchup next to the two piles of fries, but he could feel Cas’ eyes on him. He cleared his throat. “Bobby… uh my uncle of sorts, he loves them.” He explained and gingerly lifted the two plates up with his hands. Cas had taken two bottles of beer from the six pack and was waiting for Dean at the door to the living room.

Cas said nothing as Dean set down their plates, nor did he say anything when Dean turned on the television, like he hadn’t done for the last few days in favor of a conversation. He merely nodded and put down their beers. Dean refused to let his mood be pulled down by his almost slip. They had burgers and beer and Cas was looking at him with that quiet-not-there smile that only showed in the wrinkles around his eyes.

He turned down the volume to a soft background noise. Cas’ smile widened. Dean watched closely as he took his first bite and was rewarded with a moan that rivaled that of a porn star. Cas took his time chewing, making sure he milked every little bit of taste before he swallowed. He looked up at Dean with slightly glassy eyes.

“Dean.” He breathed, face drawn into what could only be described as rapture. “This is delicious.” Dean grinned and finally picked up his own burger. It had been a long time since the last time he had homemade burgers and the first bite was as good as Cas had made it look. 

“Your uncle Bobby.” Cas started after a while. He was looking at Dean again and he got the impression that Cas was waiting for a sign for him to continue. Dean thought shortly about deflecting the topic but he couldn’t run away forever. Cas was giving him a home after all, telling him a bit about himself was the least he could do. He nodded once and Cas smiled.

“What did you mean by sort of?”

“He’s not my real uncle.” Dean put his burger half down to finish off a few fries, while he talked. “He’s a friend of my father and since-“ He hesitated, this would open a can of worms he didn’t actually want to talk about. Dean swallowed. “My mother died when I was very young and Dad kind of never got over it. It was a house fire and Dad was convinced it had been arson. So Bobby more or less took care of us when Dad was on another trip to find the ‘murderer.”

Dean shrugged. This story was old news, but thinking about Mom still was painful. And losing Sam hadn’t made it any easier. 

“My mother died after giving birth to me.” Cas said solemnly. Dean looked up sharply, but Cas wasn’t looking at him. “I don’t mean to compare. My loss doesn’t invalidate yours, but I’d like to say I can relate.” Cas had already finished his burger and he was now looking wistfully down at his fries. He took one, dipped it in ketchup and looked up at Dean again. “I grew up under the care of my older brother. My father was too absorbed in his work to care for us and I think he blamed me for my mother’s dead. I haven’t spoken to him in years.”

“That’s tough.” Dean said, finally picking up his beer and emptying about half of it in one go. The conversation truly warranted it. 

“Arguably so. But the same can be said about your circumstances.”

“True.” Dean raised his bottle. “Let’s drink to our shitty circumstances.” Cas mimicked him and the both took a deep gulp from their bottles. 

They finished the fries - and Dean the last of his burger - over childhood stories, and with the steady flow of beer Dean didn’t even mind talking about his brother. It was made easier by listening to Cas talking fondly of his older brother who had taken care of him like Dean had taken care of Sammy. 

Eventually they moved on to different topics. Cas had put away the dishes and was now sitting on the couch with his feet pulled up under him, body facing Dean who sat in a similar position. He held his beer cradled in his lap, rubbing a thumb over the moisture pooling on the glass.

Their knees were touching and for some reason this contact was slowly taking over Dean’s mind. A point of warmth between them, like they were connected. Dean suddenly realized that he hadn’t been listening for the past few minutes; he had been too focused on the movement of Cas’ lips as he spoke. It was entrancing. Cas must have noticed it too, because he trailed off eventually, eyes caught in Dean’s stare. 

They were close now and Dean couldn’t remember how they had gotten like this. He could make out every chapped line on Cas’ lips, each tiny hair of his three days worth of stubble. Dean had a hard time pulling his eyes away from Cas’ mouth, making sure that they were both on board with where this was headed. Cas’ eyes were hooded and intently trained on Dean. There was a soft sound, a shivering sigh and Dean’s eyes were drawn down to Cas’ lips again, now parted and inviting.

Dean’s hand landed on Cas’ thigh, maybe to reassure them both, maybe to anchor himself, but the touch seemed to jolt Cas into action because he covered the last few inches between them and pressed his lips against Dean’s. It was chaste at first, both testing the waters but Dean was itching for more and he put his hand on the back of Cas’ neck, gently pulling him closer.

Cas sighed against him, lips falling open further and Dean eagerly pushed his tongue in, slowly at first but with every stroke the passion built. Cas’ hands came to rest on Dean’s hips and he followed the pull to shift closer against Cas, until their chests were almost flush. Warmth trickled down Dean’s spine, a tingle under his skin that grew with every move of Cas’ tongue against his. 

His cock took a belated interest, heat pooling in his groin and he shifted again until he was sitting with his back against the couch, Cas following eagerly until he was seated on Dean’s lap. Dean carded his hands through Cas’ hair, stubble dragging deliciously over Dean’s cheek as they shifted. Cas let out a long moan at the first sweet contact of their clothed erections. The sound went right to Dean’s groin, pulling his cock into full erectness.

Cas’ lips curved upwards, tongue playfully licking over his lips as he started to slowly thrust his hips forward. Dean moaned, tilting his head back and just felt Cas moving against him. He let his hands fall down to Cas’ hips, shifting his hips upwards against Cas until they were both moaning.

“Dean.” Cas growled, hands scrambling to get under Dean’s shirt and he pulled it up impatiently, tugging until Dean lifted his hands and he could pull it off.

“Cas.” Dean replied, breathless and he let his head fall back again when Cas latched on to his chest. He bit down softly on Dean’s nipple, nails dragging over his skin and Dean didn’t even try to hold back the sounds. He ground his hips upwards and Cas rewarded him with gently sucking on his nipple. He pulled his hands through Cas’ hair and then down his neck and sides until he could hook his fingers under the hem of his shirt and pull it up.

Cas made a muffled sound, unwilling to leave his work in progress on Dean’s chest but he gave in eventually only to put Dean’s hands very insistently on his chest before he bent down again. Dean tweaked Cas’ nipple, dragged his nail over the nub, while Cas was doing the same to him with his mouth. Cas’ breath was hot and moist on his chest, every stroke of tongue sent sparks of heat down Dean’s body and his cock was straining painfully against his pants.

“Stop teasing Cas.” He groaned, trying futilely to push Cas further down and was promptly reprimanded with another bite to his nipple. Dean groaned again, frustrated this time and Cas chuckled darkly.

“Don’t fret Dean. I’ll fuck you soon enough.” This time Dean’s groan was pure arousal and maybe a pinch of disbelief about the deadpan sound of Cas’ voice. Cas was definitely hard, his erection was pressing insistently against his thigh but still he managed to sound so calm and collected. It was driving Dean crazy.

Cas looked up at him, lips glistening wet and inviting and Dean knew in that very moment, he was completely gone on Cas. There was a playful smirk on Cas’ lips, and Dean couldn’t resist to pull him up into another filthy kiss. Cas moaned openly, rubbing his erection against Dean again, sloppy and desperate now. 

“Dean.” He breathed again and now his voice was back to rough and breathless, showing how deeply affected he truly was. “Is this okay?” Castiel’s gaze was intense, pending, like a heated drag down Dean’s body. Dean opened his mouth to reply, but the words refused to come and Dean realized that while yes, he wanted Cas, he wasn’t ready for submitting yet.

“Not that.” He said, knowing how miserably he failed in explaining what he meant and hoping desperately that Cas understood anyway. Cas frowned, tilting his head as he searched Dean’s face. Dean swallowed. He was drunk and maybe that was the reason for his next words, but even though he was aware of that he still wanted to say them. “Not yet.” 

Cas made an aborted sound, maybe a moan, maybe something else, but the next moment Dean’s mind was swiped clean as Cas pulled him into another kiss. “Alright.” He whispered and then again, the words a tumbled mess on Dean’s skin. “I want you Dean. Any way you’ll have me.” This time it was Dean who swallowed back a sound that might have been a moan or something entirely else. 

He might not yet have been ready for bottoming yet but there were plenty of other ways they could have good time. He pulled in Cas for another kiss, hands roaming down his body until he settled them on the back of his thighs. Dean planted his feet on the ground and hoisted Cas up, shifting their positions sideways until he was straddling Cas. 

“You can have me alright.” Dean’s voice was even hoarser than Cas’ now and he could barely contain his hands from tearing off their clothes. Cas let his hand run through Dean’s hair and down his cheek where he rested it and for a moment, his lust was overwritten with a fondness so deep it took what little of Dean’s breath was left away. 

“Dean.” It was almost a demand now, a contrast to Cas’ gentle hand on his cheek and Dean let the smirk play out fully on his lips. He hooked his fingers under the waistband of Cas’ pajama pants, thanking every god in the high heavens for Cas’ habit to put on comfortable clothes as soon as he hit home, and pulled down in one smooth motion. Cas gasped and his hips bucked upwards, seeking a friction Dean was only too willing to provide.

“I got you.” He said, hand closing gently around Cas’ shaft and he pressed his eyes shut on the moan that spilled out. Dean let his eyes roam over Cas’ exposed body, wondering when had been the last time he’d truly care about more than just the body he was about to fuck. He’d like to say that this was just a fling, something to pass the time, maybe even payback. But that would have been a lie. He wasn’t going to fuck Cas, he was going to make love. He wanted to make love.

And strangely, Dean was alright with that.

He kept stroking Cas until he was moaning and writhing, fingers closed tightly around the wrist Dean used to prop himself up. Cas was close, he could tell and that was exactly where he wanted him to be. “Cas?” He murmured, clearly aware that talking would break his spell of pleasure but he needed Cas cognizant at least for a little while longer. Cas’ eyes opened, heavy and glazed over with lust but he focused on Dean like he was his anchor.

And God knew, maybe he was.

“I need some lube and a condom.” Cas blinked, confused for a moment but then his eyes cleared. 

“Bedroom. Nightstand. Top drawer.” 

Dean smiled at Cas’ limited brain capability. “Got it.” He said and then hoisted Cas up into his arms with one smooth motion. Cas whelped indignantly, wrapping his arms around Dean’s shoulders to make sure he didn’t fall. “I got you.” Dean soothed and Cas let out a heavy sigh.

“You fucking tease.” He deadpanned, effect slightly marred by his still hoarse voice. Dean broke out into full on laughter and he had to stop for a moment to lean against the wall until he had calmed down enough to continue.

“Careful there princess or I’m going to drop you.” Dean replied, grinning from ear to ear at the gorgeous and very naked man in his arms.

“Does that make you my knight in shining armor?” Cas asked with a raised eyebrows, cheeks still flushed and wasn’t that a lovely combination.

“I’ll be your knight.” Dean kicked open the bedroom door. “But I’m afraid the dragon is in my pants.” He flipped the light switch with his elbow and pushed the door shut behind them.

“Oh I know.” Cas said and planted his hand firmly right between Dean’s legs. Dean’s legs almost buckled and he quickly took the last few steps and carefully laid Cas down on the bed. He quickly fetched the bottle of lube and a condom from the bedside drawer and tossed both on the pillow. 

Cas had repositioned himself and was now languidly lounging on his side, displaying everything he had to offer right for Dean to look at. He took the bottle of lube and slowly circled a finger around his hole, eyes watching Dean intently. Dean let his breath out slowly, trying to pull his self restraint together so he wouldn’t just jump Cas. But damn it was hard. 

“Come on Dean.” Cas somehow managed to make his voice sound even more fucked out, if that was even possible. “Show me your dragon.” Dean groaned, wondering if maybe he had died and ended up in his own personal heaven with his very own filthy fantasy-fulfilling angel. “I’m not going to wait forever.” He smirked up at Dean and then pushed a finger inside himself, slowly so that Dean could see every little drag of skin against the furls of muscle.

“Don’t worry, I’ll stuff you nice and full soon enough.” Dean might have suffered from shortness of breath by now, but damn Cas fingering himself was fucking hot. Cas hand closed around the base of his cock and he pressed his eyes close for a moment, drawing in a calming breath and then another one, before he resumed his finger’s movement. 

“Just get on with it.”Cas slipped in another finger, wriggling slightly until he hit gold and letting out a deep moan that served to remind Dean of his own pressing erection. Dean flicked open the button on his pants and pulled them down swiftly, keeping his eyes on Cas who had his head thrown back now, moaning repeatedly as he twisted his finger. Dean licked his lips.

“Dean.” Cas had three fingers in now and he was visibly growing impatient. Any longer and he was probably going to jump Dean’s bones himself. 

A small part of Dean wondered if he could make Cas beg for him, but he also knew that he wasn’t going to last that long. And then Cas put the fucking cherry on the fucking cake. 

“Dean Winchester, I swear to God, if you don’t get your cock in my ass in the next minute I’ll climb it myself.” Now it was Dean’s turn to muffle a moan. He shoved down his boxers in one go, stepped out of them and climbed the bed.

“Cas.” He said on a breath that was more a moan and if he didn’t get some relief soon he was going to burst. Cas spread his legs even further in invitation, hole glistening wet and open now without his fingers. Dean’s brain had barely the capacity left to make him scramble for the condom, but putting it on almost proved to be too much of a challenge. Cas teased his hole again, dipping in the tip of his index finger again and again and then, fucking finally, Dean had the condom on.

He pulled Cas’ hand away and lined himself up. Dean looked up to meet Cas’ eyes, huge and clouded blue, before he took a steadying breath and pushed in the first inch. Cas parted around him, loose and welcoming and Dean slid in with barely any resistance. 

The feeling was overwhelming. So many nights of meaningless sex, fucking and getting fucked and nothing could even begin to compare to this. Cas was pure heat and pressure around him. Dean had to take a moment to just breathe and grow used to the sensation, allow himself and Cas the time to adjust so he didn’t just spill on his first thrust. 

Somehow his hand had found Cas, or maybe the other way round and now they clung to each other, reaffirming one another that this connection was more than just their bodies locked together. Making love, Dean reminded himself. And then Cas let out a shallow breath, a sound so quiet he almost missed it, but it was there, a moan almost like a whimper. And Dean knew Cas was ready.

His first thrust was slow and careful, and he built his rhythm on that. He pulled out almost to the tip and slid in unhurried but insistent and with every thrust he changed the angle until he hit a spot and Cas arched his back off the mattress. Dean put his hand on Cas’ hips and held him there, angled perfectly to hit his prostate in every other thrust until Cas was writhing, eyes squeezed shut and moaning oh so deliciously. 

Dean’s own voice was rising, pants turning into moans and then gasps and after gasps came Cas’ name, like a prayer and an anchor, like the only thing that kept him together. Cas had opened his eyes and was staring at him, blue swallowed almost completely by the black of his pupils, voice reduced to shallow pants and breathy moans, but his grip was still strong on Dean’s hand. 

Cas was beautiful like this, spread out and opened up for Dean. Skin flushed red with heat and Dean leaned forward to kiss those perfect pink lips, parted open by exquisite moans. It was rather messy, but Cas’ tongue fluttered against him in a weak effort to deepen the kiss past the increased need for air and Dean swallowed up every moan he elicited. He pulled Cas with him when he sat back up again, breaking rhythm shortly only to resume with more force moments later. 

Their chests were pressed together and Dean cradled a hand on Cas’ neck to keep their lips in proximity, even though most kisses landed everywhere on Cas’ face but his mouth. 

Pressure was building, and with every thrust Dean’s control slipped a little more until he was teetering on the edge, hanging on by a thread that ripped cleanly through when Cas threw his eyes open and moaned Dean’s name. Dean’s rhythm stuttered and then came to a halt completely as his orgasm crushed through him like a wave. His vision whitened out for a brief moment and when he came back to he was collapsed on top of Cas who stroked a soothing hand through his hair. 

Cas was still hard against his belly and once Dean had gathered his wits together he reached down and stroked him. He watched Cas’ face closely, watched as his eyes fell shut again and the barely calmed breath picked up again into a hasty rhythm that matched the beating of his hand. And then Cas came, quietly almost, with merely a soft sigh and a rapt expression as his cock spurted violently over Dean’s hand.

Dean thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

And it was such a stark contrast to all the women he had had, all loud and almost vulgar in their noisy climax, or the sweaty men, grunting like pig as they neared their climax. Cas’ breath slowly evened out and he looked up at Dean from under his lashes, an almost shy smile on his lips. He was still flushed a beautiful red and Dean leaned down to kiss his cheeks, both of them and then his nose and his forehead and finally his lips, sweet and slow like they had all the time in the world.

And God knew, maybe they had.

Dean suddenly realized what he was doing. He was still lying on top of Cas, legs tangled together and he had just been intimately kissing his face, repeatedly. This was cuddling. Dean Winchester didn’t do cuddling.

Cas was still blissfully out of it, eyes half lidded and a smile that bordered on goofily stupid, and damn if that wasn’t cute. Dean looked at Cas blinking up at him with that stupid reverent expression he seemed to have reserved for Dean and he decided that maybe he could make an exception.

“What’s wrong Dean?” Cas asked softly, lifting a hand to rest on Dean’s cheek. He sounded exactly how he looked, blissfully fucked out and happy, but now faintly tainted with worry at Dean’ stiff posture and silence. 

Dean smiled. “Nothing.” He said and leaned down to peck a kiss on Cas’ lips, before he rolled them both over on their sides. “Everything is fine. We’re good.” He said, thinking that maybe he was right. There was no pain in this moment, no guilt, no fear, just happiness and peace. It was like Cas somehow had filled the gaping hole in his chest, slowly and steadily, without Dean realizing.

Now he almost felt whole again.

And maybe he even deserved that.

“Good.” Cas said and then, because he was a nitpick like that, “I think we should clean up.” 

“Screw you.” Dean groaned into the soft tufts of Cas’ hair.

“You just did.”

“Damn it Cas.”

“Now will you clean up, please? I won’t be held accountable if anyone comes to harm tomorrow because police officer Novak got stuck to a very handsome man.”

“So you think I’m handsome?” Dean smirked and winked. 

“Why am I not surprised that this is the only detail you’ve taken away from this?” Castiel said with a fond eye roll.

“Oh I understand perfectly well what you are saying. You intend to be pardoned for failing your duty by presenting this indeed very handsome stranger stuck to you as evidence on your defense.” 

“Dean Winchester I am mildly intoxicated and just had my brains fucked out, don’t you get sassy on me. “ 

“You started it.” 

“My point still stands. Now get us both a towel and then you can sass me all you want.” Cas said with an immaculately raised eyebrow that belied his previous assessment. 

“I swear to god it shouldn’t be this damn hot for you to be bossy.” Dean groaned but got up anyway. But it felt oddly natural to do so, like they’d already fallen into an easy post-coital routine full of affection and banter. And really, when Cas welcomed him back with a nice and soft kiss and a lot of handsy attention, Dean thought, he really could get used to this.

 

**Chapter 8 - City of Revelations**

Dean knew he would never fully get over Sam’s death. It was something he had come to accept eventually. It would get easier with time but he would forever feel guilty about it. He had however thought that it would take months, probably years for him to feel any semblance of peace again, but then Cas came along and everything seemed to change abruptly.

He still had his various traumas, some nights were filled with nightmares either about Sam’s ghost haunting him or about Alastair chasing him in the dark. He supposed that was how it went when things like that happened to a person. But with Cas there it all felt bearable.

As it was, Dean considered himself insanely lucky to have found Cas, or rather to have been found by him.

Los Angeles had seemed like a trap, a devil’s pit lined by fiery hills, and now it seemed to brim with life and possibilities. He dragged Cas out at night or on his days off, to museums, bars, shows or simply taking his Baby for a drive through the nightly city, a billion stars muted above them while there were mingling among the stars on earth. Cas would take Dean out to meet his colleagues and friends, as few as there were and Dean even befriended Anna while keeping the very steadfast opinion that Balthazar was a grade A prick. Time passed quickly like that.

Anna’s prediction had come true, they had put out a search for Alastair and his gang but nothing turned up and Dean eventually forgot about it. He still wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to see that face again, even if it would be through a one way mirror and among four other men. But it would have been nice though to have that rat off the streets and it was moments like this when he could understand Cas’ frustration when he came home from a bad day at work. 

On those days he would make extra sure Cas had everything he needed, be it a listening ear, a massage or even alcohol to take off the edge. The sex afterwards was usually awesome, because Cas had a habit to bottle in his anger until he could blow it off by angrily riding Dean into the mattress, cursing his way through an intense orgasm and then milking Dean through his own.

But then there were days when Cas was just tired and exhausted, after an especially bad case and then he would just sit quietly in the living room, staring blankly at the wall until Dean put a cup of tea in his hand or a book when he could tell that Cas needed a distraction above anything else. And then he would watch Cas drink his tea or read his book and he could see every little line in his face relax one after another. And only then would he reach out his hand to put on Cas’ knee and he would lean into his side and give him the physical comfort of his presence.

Sex after that was quiet, reverent, and Cas would lie down spread open for Dean and he would look at him with deep blue eyes and Dean would take all the time in the world to worship his body until everything that was left in Cas’ mind was Dean. 

And of course there were the nights Dean deemed the best, when either of them got a kinky idea and they ended up having the weirdest most awesome kinky sex Dean could ever dream of.

Things were progressing nicely and Dean eventually stopped keeping such a tight leash on every mention of his brother. He’d think of him every now and then, triggered by associative memory and then one day he spoke the thought out loud. 

He didn’t even remember what triggered it, some incongruous comment about favorite candy, something he’d randomly thought off when he noticed the first Halloween costumes in stores. He’d maybe said something about how they needed to stock up on candy and then ended with a wistful memory of Sam stuffing his face with butter fingers and throwing all over Dean’s favorite shoes when he was seven.

Cas merely hummed in response, but Dean was struck with the realization that the comment had come naturally, even though the pain upon remembering remained. It happened more frequently after that. Dean would make burgers and tell Cas about the first time Sam helped him make them. He would serve something greasy and full of fat and reminisce about Sam pestering him about healthy food. He would fold their laundry and wonder what Sam would make out of Dean’s newfound ironing skills.

To all of that Cas would only nod or make a quiet noncommittal sound, but Dean could tell that he was deeply curious. His gaze often would linger on the amulet Dean never took off, not even during sex. But he held back his questions, silently waiting for Dean to share it himself. 

It was Thursday, shortly before Halloween. Cas had the next three days off in preparation for a double shift on Monday, when he would have to cover the night of Halloween and apparently LA went bat shit crazy during that time. Dean had to admit he was worried. There was increased gang violence in some parts of the city, and Cas had often stayed over hours recently, coming home tired and sometimes even injured. Lightly, but still.

Dean was making pie for the first time since he had left his home. He had had the idea for quite a while now, but so far he’d always hesitated. Pie was special. Pie was comfort food, but pie was also personal and something he’d so far only made for his family. He had bought them pie a few times, but it was a difference to making one from scratch.

He wanted to surprise Cas with a special meal, burgers and afterwards self made pie, even though he himself didn’t quite know what he wanted to say with that. Maybe it was a thank you for all that he had done, maybe it was his way of showing his feelings. Either way, Dean was nervous and thrilled in equal measure.

The burger ingredients were all prepared, only the meat needed to be grilled. The apple filling was sitting in a bowl ready to be filled into the pie, but he wouldn’t put it into the oven until Cas was home so they could enjoy it fresh and warm. Whipped cream was in the fridge and all that was left was to calm Dean’s nerves.

This night was special for some reason, he merely couldn’t tell why that was. Dean checked the clock for the tenth time in as many minutes, wondering when Cas would arrive. He had texted earlier that he would be home later around six and it was almost time now. But something could always come up at the last minute

Dean wondered why he even was so antsy. It was the first time Cas had three days off in a row and he had mentioned a few times in passing that they could go on a short vacation over the prolonged weekend. Drive to some lonely seaside village and just spent the time there, relaxing far away from the city. They could go down South and maybe rent surfboards or something. 

It would be their first vacation together. And Dean would be lying if that didn’t scare him. He’d had quite a few relationships, short lived mostly, and this was the first time he truly wished it would last. Commitment wasn’t exactly his strong suit when it came to relationships, but he wanted this to work out.

He **needed** this to work. Sure, he was way better than before Cas, but sometimes Dean could tell how feeble his sanity really was. Cas was holding him together and without him he would just crumble into pieces again.

The front door opened and Dean realized with a start that he had zoned out. He shook himself out of his reverie and went to greet Cas. Food was late now anyway.

Cas looked tired, but other than that happy enough.

“Hello Dean.” He greeted quietly and Dean forewent his own greeting in favor of soundly kissing Cas on the lips. He would never let on it but the days were hard for him sometimes. But even worse than that were the nights Cas was on duty. They were few and far in between but on every night he slept alone, Dean had a nightmare.

“Did you miss me?” Cas asked with a soft teasing note in his voice.

“What does it look like?” Dean replied, refusing to let Cas step out of the hug he had trapped him in. Cas chuckled quietly and indulged Dean for another deep kiss. 

“What’s for dinner?” He finally unwound himself from Dean’s arms, sidestepping his renewed attempt at trapping him and walking firmly over into the kitchen.

“It’s not ready yet anyway, so you can take a shower.” Dean called after him, only to get an excited “Pie!” in reply. He had infected Cas with his love for pie. Dean followed with a huge grin, catching Cas right in the middle of sneaking bits of filling into his mouth. He only looked faintly guilty but mostly like the cat who got the canary. It was freaking adorable.

“Go take a shower.” Dean ordered with a grin. “I’ll finish the burgers.”

“You just want to get me into pajama pants.” Cas said with a raised eyebrow. “I have seen through your ploy Dean Winchester.” 

“Is that so?” Dean stepped forward until he could crowd Cas against the kitchen counter. “Well then how about some pre-dinner sex.” He leaned forward to let his breath ghost over Cas’ chin. Something he knew Cas could barely resist. “You wanted to know if I missed you. I can show you.” 

Cas looked down pointedly at where Dean’s pants remained rather flat between his legs. “I can see that.” He said amusedly. Dean snorted.

“Go shower or I really jump you.” He happily slapped a hand on Cas’ butt in passing though. Some things just needed to be done.

Dean was heating the pan while the water was running. He had already rolled out the pie dough and placed one half into the waiting form. He filled in the sliced apples; the sweet smell of cinnamon permeating the air even more. Dean then put the patties in the pan and went to put the other half of the dough on top of the pie. He quickly sliced two intersecting lines into it and went to flip the meat. 

He pulled the potato wedges from the oven and quickly pushed the tray with the pie inside, setting the timer before he pulled the pan from the stove. The patties had exactly the right color and smelled delicious. The water was still running so he left them in the hot pan until Cas was finished. Cold burgers weren’t exactly a treat. 

Dean put the bread buns on the toaster and let them sit there for about a minute. By then the water had already turned off and he began assembling their dinner. He had opted to make potato wedges instead of fries this time. Ellen swore on them and Dean figured she couldn’t be that far off. 

He had just finished putting everything together when Cas came into the kitchen, completely in pajamas and hair still dripping wet. Dean took an educated guess and concluded that he was really hungry.

“Burgers.” Cas said and ogled the plates in Dean’s hand.

“Yes Cas, burgers.” Dean said and carried his precious freight into the living room. The TV had become mere background noise at this point; they simply preferred the comfort of the couch at this point. It was somehow more intimate than the bleak kitchen table. 

“You made burgers.” Cas said again and dropped down on the couch, eyes still glued to his plate. “How did I miss that? I love burgers.”

“I know Cas.” Dean said with a laugh. He went to pull their beer from the fridge. Cas had taken quite a liking to beer; he wasn’t drinking as much as Dean, but he was more or less able to keep up.” Don’t start without me.” Dean quickly checked the pie but it was about ten minutes in, there was not much that could have happened.

“I would never dream of it.” Cas sounded like he had just stuffed his mouth.

Dean grinned. Cas had bitten off a huge bit of his burger and was now looking up at Dean with the same mix of guilty and gleeful he’d had when he sneaked pie filling. “It is delicious.” Dean could barely make out his words through the mouthful he was chewing but Cas’ expression said it all the same.

Maybe next time he should make Cas two burgers, Dean mused as he watched Cas inhaling his food.

“How was your day?” He asked after Cas had opened his beer and drank his first sip. Cas shrugged, pulling a grimace.

“Balthazar got into a fight with two prostitutes.” He said drily. Dean snorted in his beer and almost showered them both in his beverage in the process. Cas shot him a wry look. “Anna had a similar reaction when we told her, before she lectured Balthazar on proper conduct that is.”

“What the hell happened? You were on duty right?”

“We were. I assume they tried to make Balthazar pick them up, and when Balthazar refused them he…” Cas seemed to be infinitely amused by this. “He wasn’t exactly polite about it.”

“What did he say?” Dean suspected Cas was purposely making him ask, just to mess with him. 

“His precise words were, and I quote, no thank you Ladies, but if I don’t want to pay for my syphilis.”

“I see.” Dean said and managed for the whole of two seconds to keep a straight face. Cas watched him with raised eyebrows and faintly upwards tilted lips as Dean doubled over in laughter. “Are you serious?” He asked once he had calmed down. “Why would they even try to pick up two cops?”

Cas smirked. “They might have been under the assumptions we were strippers on their way to a job. Balthazar was all too happy to inform them of their misconception.” Dean was doubling over again. He could just about picture it. Cas in his considerably hot police get up would make the perfect stripper and damn, why hadn’t he thought of that. 

“I know what you’re thinking.” Cas said with a warning twinkle in his eyes. “I’m not going to play the stripper for you.”

“You totally are.” Dean shot back and knew by Cas’ expression that he was wholly on board with that. “I’ll bake you another pie if you put on lace underwear.” Dean waggled his eyebrows and Cas wacked him over the head. But his expression still displayed interest.

“I’m not going to tell you when.” Cas warned but Dean just shrugged.

“That’s fine with me.” And damn him, it was.

Dean finished his plate and they watched a bit television, cuddled close to each other and then the timer went off and Cas was up and in the kitchen before Dean could even unwrap his legs from under himself. The pie was perfect. The sweet scent of apple and cinnamon was mouthwatering enough, but the sight reminded Dean’s stomach strongly of how much he loved pie. 

He let Cas cut them both a generous piece as he pulled the can with whipped cream from the fridge. They probably should let the pie cool off a bit, but neither had the patience to wait.

Dean watched again as Cas took his first bite and his face was even more rapt than when he had eaten his first burger. The sight made something warm fizzle in Dean’s stomach. Something that had nothing to do with the warm piece of pie on his plate. 

“I used to imagine my mother doing motherly things.” Cas mused after a while of delightful chewing. “Gabriel said she used to make blueberry pie for him. I tried to imagine her doing that for me.” He put down his fork and looked wistfully at his half eaten pie. “I only had one picture of her Gabriel had hid away from Father. I never managed to get her face right, but she would always smell like blueberry pie.” He took another bite. “I hate blueberry pie.”

Dean twirled his fork through the whipped cream, the mood swing lying heavy on his stomach. “My mother used to bake apple pie.” He said after a while. “After she died I started trying to make her recipe to give Sammy a piece of her, but it never tasted right.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “It still doesn’t taste right, but it’s as far as it gets. Sam loved it regardless, but I could have given him pie filled with rats, said the recipe was from Mom and he would have loved it.” Dean looked down at the twirl of whipped cream, half molten from the warm pie. Apple and cinnamon lingered sweet, sweet on his tongue. 

“I love apple pie, but my favorite is Pecan.” He frowned. “I think Sam preferred cherry. He would always ask for it when he was young, but later when money was tighter because Dad barely held a job for longer than a week he’d just take whatever I put in front of him. I’d make it on his birthday though, regardless of what he wished for. And then…” And then Sam’s interest in his diet had picked up but he never got around to bother Dean with it because shortly after the Stanford bomb dropped and John kicked him out. And then…

“Sam is dead isn’t he?” Cas asked into the soft silence of the muted television. Dean’s fingers found his amulet and he twisted the little head between them, rubbed a thumb over the horns and wondered, wondered how long it would take for it to no longer feel like a leaden rope around his neck. 

“Yeah.” He said and his voice was hoarse and dried up, like he had run through a desert for weeks. Cas said nothing, just quietly put his finished plate down and waited. Somewhere a bell chimed seven.

There were no words. Only consequence.

Cas leaned back against the couch and leveled his eyes on the television. He was speaking to the room in general and Dean was a mere accidental listener.

“Gabriel would make me blueberry pie on my birthday. I never told him that I hated it. I had nightmares sometimes of a faceless monster in a flower apron smothering me with blueberry pie. I think I tried to imagine her too hard. But Gabriel had gotten it in his head that he needed to do this for me and he always put so much effort into it so I always ate it, forcing a smile even though I felt like throwing up.” Cas had his hands spread out on his knees, palms down like he was holding something down.

“Father distanced himself more and more the older I grew. Gabriel said it was because I resembled mother but I wouldn’t know. It made me angry though. I was purposefully getting in trouble in school then. I think I wanted father to take notice of me, but all it did was burden Gabriel even more. But I was so angry and Gabriel took everything I threw at him with endless patience. No matter what he never got mad at me.

“I wanted a reaction though. So I told him that I hated his blueberry pie, had hated it forever and that I was waiting to turn eighteen so I could run away and never have to eat his pie again.”Cas let out a short burst of laughter, joyless and bitter. 

“I thought back then that I was a burden to him. That he took care of me because he had to as the older brother and that was my way of letting him go I guess. But it turned out I got it all wrong.” Cas shook his head and he was smiling like he still couldn’t believe it.

“He told me he knew that I hated blueberry pie. Had known it all along but had made it anyway because he also knew it was my way of coping with mother’s loss. By way of that pie I could hate part of her, even if it was insignificant and stupid and by hating part of her I made her human. And by making her human I could accept her death as something that just happened. It was no one’s fault.

“My father always blamed me, but I never blamed myself. I sometimes felt guilty for that, but never for her death itself. I regretted her death of course, growing up without a mother sucks quite frankly.” He shrugged and glanced in Dean’s direction. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I was so clueless but nevertheless madly grateful for Gabriel to take care of me.

“He ran away shortly after I finished high school and got settled in police academy, so I never got to tell him that. But I like to believe that he knew it regardless, because I didn’t run away when I turned eighteen and I got to do what I wanted to do, something he’d always encouraged.”

Cas pulled his fingers together into fists, looking down at them curiously, like he hadn’t even realized they were there. “We all do our best, but some of us only get to do it because someone else is there to let us.” He looked up at Dean now, smiling softly, but not sad and Dean wondered how it could be that his story hit so close to home.

Like two sides of the same coin. 

Cas couldn’t know that.

“I would be the Gabriel in your story.” Dean started, voice still hoarse and heavy with apple and cinnamon. His pie was half eaten and forgotten. “I took care of Sam after Mom died and Dad was generally unreliable.” He shrugged. “It was never a big deal, I was his big brother and I loved him so it was only natural.

“Sam was a good kid, so damn smart and he’d go places, I could always tell.” Dean could feel wetness well in his eyes but he blinked it away, because it had been months and Sam’s loss felt like a raw wound again. “But then he actually went places – Stanford to be precise – and he left us all behind. It wasn’t even his fault, Dad kicked him out, but either way, he left and that was the last I saw of him, ever.

“I was too… I don’t even know what it was, too stubborn? Cowardly? I never contacted him over Dad’s head and then the hospital calls one day and guess what; I’m still his emergency contact. Car crash, knocked into a coma with a metal bar lodged in his frontal lobe and I jump into the car and drive and when I arrive he’s already dead. There had never been a real chance of recovery I guess, but I had still hoped.” 

He wasn’t crying, but it was more to sheer willpower than anything else. Dean wondered if there ever would be a point when there were no more tears left. He then wondered if he’d ever reach that point. If this would ever be something he could look back upon without feeling like his heart was torn in two.

“I got into the car after the funeral and just started driving. I ended up here, called home, threw over with my Dad over some bullshit and haven’t left ever since.” The pressure of tears was still there, but it had eased up significantly. He’d carried this story around with him for so long it had become a burden, like a leaden rope around his neck. He dropped the hand that had been clenched around the amulet.

Cas was watching him.

“Sammy got me this for Christmas.” He pulled the necklace free for Cas to see the tiny devil head attached to it. “It was supposed to be for Dad but he ditched us last minute and he figured I deserve it more. It’s for protection or something.”

There was silence after that and Dean wondered what Cas would say, what Cas could say to a story like that. In the end it was something simple.

“Did he really like the pie?” Cas asked. Dean stared at him for a moment before it clicked. Strangely the notion made him laugh. Really laugh, not just a joyless fake.

“He did. He really did. Sam was a terrible liar when he was a kid and I would have smelled deception three miles against the wind. Besides, he’d always lick the plates clean and demand seconds before he was even half finished with his first slice.” Dean’s smile was slowly fading as he remembered. “That was all kid Sam though. When he got older he would refuse a second helping because we were always tight on food and he didn’t want to eat too much. I insisted though and he’d always look so damn happy when he got his second piece.”

There was silence again, but it wasn’t pressing and waiting for a reaction. It was just there, quiet and unobtrusive. “I miss him.” Dean admitted on a whisper, the words feeling like boulders tumbling from his tongue. He had carried them for too damn long now.

“I know.” Cas replied and then he put his hand on Dean’s and squeezed. “I know.” 

And Dean could pull comfort from the knowledge that Cas indeed knew how it felt to miss a brother.

 

**Chapter 9 - City of Peace**

Castiel had a surprise for Dean. He had planned it meticulously over the last few weeks, even negotiated a three day break before Halloween with Anna. He’d booked them a small beach house in a small village down in Mexico, just a bit North from San Diego; cheap now that it was out of season. He had prepared everything; the only thing that was left was to tell Dean.

He’d originally planned on doing that on Thursday, but then Dean had told him about his brother and the timing hadn’t seemed right. So he had surprised Dean with a breakfast on Friday morning and a picture of their weekend home and shortly after they had packed up the car - the Impala, Dean insisted - and drove down South.

Now they were only a few miles outside away from their destination; Dean had put on one of his many tapes, insisting he educate Castiel on proper music. So far the music had been mostly okay, but Castiel wasn’t yet completely sold. It made for a nice feeling in his chest to have Dean tell him with a smile in his eyes that they were going to have to work on that.

They were nearing their destination, but Dean was getting impatient. Castiel had refused any more details about their destination though. The border transition had gone smoothly but at that point Dean had been brimming with curiosity. And then the ocean came into view, a beautiful stretch of blue, mirrored by an equally as vast blue sky, palm trees swaying in a soft breeze and Castiel and Dean both reached for the window handle at the same time. The breeze was heavenly, warm and carrying the smell of sea, even this late in the year.

Los Angeles was so big it often made Castiel forget that there was a whole ocean nearby. The harbor of Los Angeles was a shit hole in Castiel’s opinion, too many criminals had made it their turf and as for the public beaches, they were usually overcrowded. Besides both he and Dean could use a change of scenery every now and then. 

That was the exact reason why he’d taken Dean down South. 

“Cas,” Dean breathed. “This is beautiful.” He had refused to let Castiel drive, so now he was alternating between staring out of the window and watching the road. The village came into view in front of them and Castiel watched with quiet amusement as Dean’s eyes widened in surprise. The village was quaint; there really was no other word for it. Small cottages lined the shore, colorful little houses were grouped around a central plaza A boulevards led away from the plaza, lined with more shops and palm trees.

The whole place had a feeling of Caribbean summer to it, quiet and peaceful with a hint of fiery blood underneath. It was late in October, but it was still warm down here, like an endless summer, lost in the breeze. It was a magical place. 

The streets were mostly empty safe for a few locals and the occasional tourist couple taking a stroll. The beach was a blinding white, only a scarce few surfers out on the waves as the prime season hadn’t started yet. The view over the sea was breathtaking. 

“Please tell me this is where we’re staying.” Dean said, as they slowly drove down the street that wove through the village, connected to the plaza and then continued Southwards along the shoreline. Dean had slowed the car without any prompting, too absorbed in the view that unfolded before them.

And now he was beaming at Castiel, a hopeful glimmer in his eyes and Castiel felt his heart swell in his chest. Dean had been down the day before; still wrecked by memories of his brother, but it all seemed a mere shadow now. It wasn’t gone, things like that didn’t just vanish overnight, but Castiel was positive he could help Dean through this, exchange his bad memories with better ones. 

“We’re staying here.” Castiel said with a smile and Dean exhilarated.

“I haven’t been to the beach in ages. Well actually, make that never. I mean I saw a few beaches but always in passing. I never made holidays on one that wasn’t on a lake.” Dean shrugged, but his grin was still massive and he reminded Castiel of a child in a candy factory. It was one of the best things Castiel had ever seen.

He directed Dean to their house, a small cottage right at the edge of the beach with a tiny stretch of garden at the back and a vast view of blue in the front. And best of all, they had the whole portion of perfect white beach to themselves.

“Cas,” Dean said as they got out of the car. “I’m going to make sweet love to you on that beach and I don’t give a crap about how cheesy that just sounded.” 

“I think I might be able to make room for that in my schedule. Are five minutes enough, what do you think?” Castiel asked as he pulled their bags from the trunk. It was midday and Castiel planned to take out Dean for dinner later, but before that he wanted to take a stroll down the beach and through the village. And maybe desecrate the bed or the couch, because Dean wore only one tight shirt and somehow he looked even more dazzling with the ocean in the background.

“Is that a challenge?” Dean asked with a playful smirk, skin drenched in sunlight.

Definitely desecrate something, the beach was a good start.

“Why? Do you think you can make me come in under five minutes?” Castiel paused at the door to get the key from under an innocent looking flower pot. He looked back at Dean who had pulled off his shoes and was now standing on the beach, sun framing his back. Castiel took a moment to just stare and soak up the sight. He could see the two of them, spread out on a towel, slowly moving against each other with the beautiful sunset casting them all in red and gold. 

This, Castiel realized, must be what love felt like.

Dean had replied something unambiguously lewd and Castiel put their bags down, dropped the key and went to kiss Dean right there on the sand under the glowing sun and it felt like flying through space and dancing among the stars or maybe that was just Castiel’s heart finally giving out over too much happiness. 

They ended up making out there on the sand in plain view of two disinterested seagulls until they realized that sand and certain intimate body parts didn’t mix well and it ended in quite a steamy shower session and sex against a wall.

And if that was what love felt like Castiel was happy to be in love with Dean and love only Dean for the rest of his life.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Cas was officially Dean’s most favorite person in the world. This place was heavenly; there was no other word for it. Sandy white beaches, ocean as far as his eyes could see and a quaint little village with sweet little shops and restaurants in the midst of swaying palm trees and fresh sea air.

After the shower Cas had pulled two reclining chairs from the cottage’s small cellar and they had sat down on the beach and watched the play of the waves. Okay they had tried to watch the play of the waves but since the earlier attempt at sex on the beach had failed Dean had promptly decided to rectify that with the help of elevated chairs. 

He had gone into the house under the pretense of getting them something to drink, and had smuggled a pack of condoms and some lube back with him. Dean then had sat down on Cas’ chair, pulled him into his lap and wrapped a sneaky hand right around his cock in his too loose swim trunks. And that was as much coaxing as Cas needed. He had fucked him to the sound of waves rolling ashore, to the faint song of seagulls and Cas had looked so beautiful Dean thought he might have died and gone to heaven.

Afterwards Cas had dragged him inside and forced him to put on something decent so they could go out for a stroll. Dean would have much rather stayed inside and have some more fun but in the end he gave in. It would be a waste after all to stay cooped inside the whole day when there was a whole village for them to explore.

The sun was nearing the horizon as Dean and Cas reached the little plaza in the village center. Most of the shops had their doors wide open, inviting in the fresh sea air and potential customers. The restaurants were slowly picking up business, delicious smells wafted out on the streets from various kitchens. 

It was picturesque, like someone had taken a cheesy postcard and made it come to life. But Dean couldn’t say he minded that at all. It was peaceful here, like he was in a completely different world. There were no sorrows here, no woes, just him and Cas and the endless flow of ebb and flood.

Dean thought he could be happy here forever. 

People were milling about, a lot of them couples holding hands and Dean was suddenly very self-conscious of the distance between them. Dean was a tactile person usually, but he was never one for openly public affection. But now he had the strong urge to reach out and take Cas’ hand. Not to prove anything, just to be close to him, to feel Cas’ presence.

He caught Cas’ eyes and realized he must have been thinking the same. Dean grinned and Cas mirrored him with one of his eye-smiles and then they both reached out and their fingers entwined. It was the most natural thing in the world.

“What do you say to dinner?” Cas asked after they had reached the other end of the village. The sea stretched endlessly to their right, bathed in orange and pink as the sun slowly set beyond the horizon.

“Do you really have to ask?” Dean said without tearing his eyes from the sight. He’d never been the type for sunsets or sunrises, but this was honest to God beautiful. He’d wished he’d taken a camera with him.

Cas laughed softly and pulled on his arm and Dean went but he kept his eyes on the sunset and then they stopped again and Castiel stood quietly next to him as they watched the sun dip lower and lower until the whole horizon was awash with a red glow. Dean squeezed Cas’ hand and Cas leaned closer until he could rest his head on Dean’s shoulder. They stood there for a while even after the sun was gone, until the red had turned to pink and then was gone completely.

On their way back towards the village center Dean mused that he had become quite the sap. Watching sunsets wasn’t exactly his preferred way of spending time but it had been nice. There was a peace out here that transferred to his mind and heart and he felt at ease like he had barely ever in the city of LA. Like the burden of guilt had been lifted from his shoulders and he was free to breathe. 

Losing Sam was the worst thing to ever happen to him but it had led him to Cas and maybe he could just about live with that.

The small restaurant Cas picked was situated directly at the beach line, terrace looking out on the ocean, lights from inside reflecting off the water. People were building up piles of driftwood on the beach to be fired up later and Cas told Dean that this was some special tradition around here. On the weekend before Halloween they would light up bonfires to repel any evil spirit that might rise and threaten all hallows’ eve.

“Tomorrow the fires will be even bigger and there will be a buffet and a firework.” Cas explained while they were waiting for their food. Cas had chosen a light seafood salad and wine, while Dean went for butter chicken Indian style. 

“You knew that, didn’t you?” Dean asked amused. There was no way Cas would surprise him and drag him down here without knowing exactly what they were getting into.

“Of course.” Cas said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Well, it probably was. “Gabriel showed me this place, shortly before he left. Apparently he and our parents would go here annually on vacation and he wanted me to at least having seen the place once.” Cas smiled ruefully. “I visited here often after that, but it always felt like something was missing. Until now.”

He was gazing at Dean with that intensity again, like Dean was the center of his world. Sometimes, Dean thought, he might just crumble under that gaze.

“How much older is your brother?” Dean asked after a short pause. Cas had told him so much about his family, yet he didn’t even know the simplest details.

“About five years.” Cas had shed the ruefulness and was smiling openly at Dean now. Full on, lips tilted upwards and eyes shining in the dimmed glow of the candle. “He’s a good head smaller though. I think that’s why he grew up into quite the prankster. Never takes himself seriously, let alone anyone else.”

“You miss him.” Dean observed and Cas just shrugged.

“I do. But he chose to leave and I don’t begrudge him that. He never asked to have a baby thrust into his arms to take care of, and for that he did a tremendously good job.” Cas was looking at Dean now with that look in his eyes that told so much more than his words ever did. Like he understood perfectly what went on in Dean’s heart.

“We lived not far from here actually.” Cas continued after the waiter brought their drinks. Dean had acquiesced and ordered wine too, and after a short hesitant sip had to admit, it didn’t taste half bad. “But father never took us to the beach after mother died. I think the only reason we went on vacation at all was because Gabriel insisted. That’s probably why I never quite liked it here before, it was never meant for me. ” 

It was a sad story intrinsically, but the evening didn’t call for sad or melancholic, so Dean reached over to cover Cas’ hand with his. And he gave the best compliment he could give right now. “Sam would have loved it.” Cas looked up at him, eyes dark in the dimmed light.

And Cas understood that this wasn’t supposed to be a sad moment, so he merely smiled and behind them the first fire was lit under a cascade of cheers and somewhere farther away someone strummed their guitar. The first chords filled the air when their food was brought but neither Dean nor Cas looked away from the other as they shared this precious moment of happiness.

Dean wasn’t thinking of love. Dean was thinking of how light he felt with Cas around, how much easier it was to breath and how the memory of Sam didn’t quite hurt as much. And how much he could believe that one day he would be whole again.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

They joined the flock of people around the bonfires after their meal. The wine had cushioned their thoughts and while the night was quite cool, the fires were pools of warmth and people were handing out beer and snacks and even warm blankets for anyone who was in need. The guitar had soon been joined by another guitar and then someone had rolled out drums and another one brought a flute and soon enough there was a steady thrum of music in the air. A couple of girls started singing at one point and then people started dancing.

Dean couldn’t remember who got up first, but they found themselves among the other dancers and then the music changed gradually until the drums were dominating and they were all stomping in circles around the fires, hands clapping and blood rushing in time with the beat.

People were cheering them on and then the music changed again and they were all spinning around each other and the the fire. Dean soon lost orientation but Cas was always there, a fixed point while everything else was falling apart. Dean had heard about indigenous tribes in Africa and other places of the world, where they would perform ritual dances to reach a trance but he’d never expected to experience something similar. 

He came to on the ground, head still spinning with the rush of it, a warm hand in his and the endless stretch of starry sky above him. The hand belonged to Cas who was flushed red and breathing heavily but smiling and seemingly glowing in the light of the fire. He couldn’t tell how he ended up here or how much time had passed since they got up for the dance, but he knew he felt good, warm and fuzzy so that was really all that mattered.

The guitar had taken over again, and it was playing some slow rock song and people were swaying in pairs, but many lay stretched out like them, covered by the stars and the magic of the night.

Dean still wasn’t thinking of love, in fact he wasn’t thinking of much anything right now.

But one thing was for certain; he was happy.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°  
They went surfing the next day. Neither Dean nor Cas had any experience on the board, but they found a local who was willing to show them a few tricks. The waves weren’t that high anyway and mostly they spent the time paddling around and splashing each other with water and maybe a tiny bit of making out.

It was awesome.

They were on their way to their small cottage now to take a quick shower before this night’s bonfire. This time there would be a whole buffet and a small firework even. Dean would have to lie to say he wasn’t excited. The previous night had had something magical, a gentle peace his nights so far had lacked. Even with Cas there, he’d always felt lost in the dark. There was no hiding in the night, his dreams would haunt him and remind him of what he’d lost, but here the rules all seemed to have been altered.

The sun was dipping low again when they reached the cottage. The rolling of the waves was a constant hum in the background, interspersed with the cry of a lonely seagull circling the waves. It was almost as if this place refused to let one forget that it was paradise. 

Cas had been quiet the way back, but he radiated the same kind of contentment Dean had felt the whole day. They had held hands, quietly and like it was the most ordinary thing in the world. And at this place at least, it was.

The moment they were inside Cas grabbed the front of his shirt, turned him around and pushed him up against the door. Dean had barely the time to process what was happening before Cas’ lips were on his. The kiss was fierce and demanding, all the teasing and touching from earlier on the beach coming to a head. Dean had dropped quite a few innuendos back then and Cas must have built this up for quite a while now. Dean was all on board with that.

“I didn’t want to say anything earlier because I know how insatiable you can be, but your ass in that neoprene suit was hot as fuck.” Cas’ hands were tugging up his shirt, impatient and greedy while his mouth was permanently attached to Dean’s chin. Dean dragged his fingers down Cas’ sides, feeling the firm muscles of his stomach and the way they jumped minutely under the press of his hands. Cas’ breath was hot on his skin, but even hotter were his words, deep and gravely and aiming straight for his dick.

“Oh you should have said something.” Dean growled back. “I could have showed you a good time officer.” Cas let out a strangled moan, hips thrusting forwards instinctively and he pressed Dean even harder against the door.

“I’m saying something now.” His voice had dropped even lower and then Cas followed down to his knees and Dean squeezed his eyes shut as Cas’ fingers dragged over the bulge in his shorts. If he had known that his tight surfer outfit had that good an effect on Cas he would have dragged him right off the board into some secluded corner. Public decency be damned.

“Dean.” Cas mouthed at the bulge, breath hot and wet even through the cotton and Dean swallowed back his first moan. “I want your cock in my ass, but I also want to stuff my face full with cock.” He looked up at Dean in all seriousness. “Do you see my dilemma?” Dean groaned and wondered - not for the first time - if this was his personal heaven.

“How about you suck me off and I shove a few fingers up your ass.” Dean had difficulties forming coherent sentences, but Cas kneeling in front of him, lips shiny and wet as he mouthed him through his pants was doing wonders for his creativity. And that mental image Cas had created was just begging to be fulfilled.

“Yes Dean, fill me up. Please.” Cas moaned and Dean got the slightest suspicion that Cas was over-acting it for him. But he was also rubbing himself through his own shorts while he mouthed Dean and that was certainly something he could work with. 

Dean wound his hand through Cas’ hair, pulling until his head was tilted up. “Damn it Cas. You want to drive me out of my mind?” Cas didn’t fight his grasp but his hands came up to fondle Dean now that his mouth was out of range. 

“Something like that.” Cas eyes were glazed over with lust and he looked utterly delectable. “Come on Dean. You want it as much as me, don’t make us both wait.”

“Cas.” Dean exhaled, breath coming much faster than normal, and damn Cas and the effect he had on him. Cas had him hot and so damn needy, just by saying a few filthy words and okay, maybe the licking him through his pants had something to do with it too. But he could have shot his load right there like no one’s business, and all Cas would have to do was do a bit more dirty talk.

“Dean.” Cas replied evenly. And that was really something Dean envied, how Cas could be so composed while on his knees, lips still slick with spit from sucking him off. When he was so obviously wanting. “I want you Dean. To be honest, I wouldn’t have minded if you’d fucked me right on the beach for all the world to see. You’re all I want Dean. All I could ever want. I-“

Dean didn’t let him finish. He couldn’t let him finish. Not yet. Dean pulled him up and into a kiss and he swallowed the words Cas was about to say, and Cas let him because he understood just as well that Dean wasn’t ready to hear what he had to say. But it was fine because they were at peace here. The sun was setting and the fires were building and Cas had conjured an image that they both wanted to fulfill.

And everything else could wait.

Cas clasped his hand on Dean’s chin, angling his head until he could push his tongue into his mouth. Dean gave him back as good as he got and what little coherency he’d regained was lost again as Cas rubbed his lower body against his. They somehow managed to maneuver into the bedroom like this, lips still tightly connected. 

They only separated to pull off their shirts and then Dean promptly shoved Cas down on the bed, fingers already tugging down his shorts. Cas’ legs fell open in invitation the moment they were freed and Dean’s eyes were drawn to his thick red cock in between. Cas was leaning back, head tilted into the sheets and whole body pushed up for Dean to see. Dean leaned over that exposed body, pressing them together chest to knees and he kissed Cas again, dirty and open mouthed until both of them were moaning.

Cas’ fingers scrambled over his skin until they found his cock and then he was pumping, up and down, a twist on every upstroke and Dean had to clench his hands in the sheets to keep from coming. 

“Dean.” Cas growled and it was as much an invitation as it was an order. Dean sat up and turned around until they were lying next to each other, their position reversed until they could reach each other’s cocks. Cas fished the bottle of lube from the nightstand and tossed it to Dean, barely giving him a second before he dove down on his cock, sucking it in smoothly. Dean gasped out a sharp moan, Cas’ tongue was hot and wet against him and damn him and his filthy tricks.

Unscrewing the bottle was a challenge but Dean eventually managed and he got back at Cas by pouring a generous amount of cool lube on his hole without warning. Cas shivered, roof of his mouth pressing against Dean’s cock in delicious friction. It was a game at this point. Cas already had a head start so Dean didn’t waste any time and pushed his first finger in up to the second knuckle. He didn’t allow Cas the time to adjust and started wriggling right away until he could push in as second finger and start his search for his prostate in earnest.

Cas was moaning openly around Dean in his mouth, the sounds vibrating along Dean’s shaft and right into that pool of heat and arousal in his abdomen. Dean twisted his fingers, shoved them in and out again, wriggled and moved in every direction until Cas’ blowjob was getting messier and messier. He was clenching down on Dean, pushing back against every inward thrust and the noises he was letting out were downright filthy. But Dean wasn’t so far behind on that. His other hand was clenched around Cas’ hipbone and he was breathing hard and in short bouts, moan falling from his lips every now and then.

And then Cas did something with his tongue – Dean couldn’t describe it – but for a moment Dean swore he saw stars. He belatedly realized he must have let out an especially obscene moan because Cas was chuckling amusedly around him, breath ghosting hot over his sensitive flesh. 

“I thought this was a special treat for me.” Cas mused, voice breathless and heavy with lust. And then he did that damn thing with his tongue again.

This time Dean made an even more obscene sound, loud and unrestrained, fingers twitching uselessly where they were still stuck in Cas’ hole. It took all his self-control and willpower not to come right then. 

Cas hummed approvingly, and while Dean was still reeling from his tongue-work, he didn’t have the capacity left to brace for that. The wet shiver of air over his oversensitive cock was too much and Dean came with a surprised shout right into Cas’ mouth. He tried to pull back on some leftover instinct, wanting to spare Cas the mess, but Cas held him tight, lips pressing around him to milk every last drop.

Dean was boneless afterwards. He couldn’t have moved even if he wanted to. The orgasm had taken him by surprise and now Dean was floating on the sweet bliss it had left behind. He was vaguely aware that his fingers were still stuck in Cas and he lazily twisted them.

There was cool air on his cock; Cas must have released him. 

“I really am in heaven.” Dean mumbled, halfheartedly trying to add a third finger. But right now he lacked the strength and capacity to align his ring finger probably and push it through. Cas rubbed a hand down Dean’s thigh, mouthing kisses along the inseam of his other and Dean couldn’t remember to have ever felt this satisfied and happy. But then again, his brain was on low burn right now, so who knew how well his memory worked.

“Does that make me your personal angel?” Cas asked from between his legs.

“You’re my personal slutty angel.” Dean replied and Cas chuckled again.

“I guess that makes you my slutty demon then.” Cas words were followed by a sharp gasp as Dean’s finger brushed over his prostate and he shifted slightly to allow a better angle. 

Dean was slowly gaining back his senses now and he figured he owed Cas an orgasm. “We should turn that into a role play.” Dean mused, watching intently how Cas’ body seemed to absorb his fingers, swallowing them up greedily. It was fascinating, like Cas didn’t want to let him go once he was inside.

“God yes.” Cas exclaimed, breath picking up again as Dean increased his tempo.

“A blaspheming angel? I think that calls for punishment.” Dean smirked and slapped his other hand playfully on Cas’ rear. Cas had told him once that he’d like to try out spanking some time, and Dean figured now was as good as any to give him a small taste. The slap hadn’t been hard, but Cas whole body jerked and he let out a loud strangled moan that would have Dean instantly hard hadn’t he just spent all his juice.

“You truly are a naughty angel.” Cas wasn’t even replying anymore, just moaning and gasping as Dean fucked him harder with his fingers. Cas was pushing his hips down into his thrusts, hands clenched tightly around Dean’s thighs. He could feel the pressure building in Cas’ body, hole clenching impossibly tight around him as his voice went hoarse. Then Cas stilled, whole body going lax for an instant before he tensed up and bit down hard on Dean’s thigh. Dean wasn’t prepared for that and he bent all of his fingers in surprise, pushing their tips right into Cas’ prostate whose body tensed even more as he let out a long deep moan that cut off when his breath ran out. Dean could feel wetness on his chest where Cas had spilled his load.

Dean carefully pulled out his fingers, while Cas was lying down boneless, similar to how Dean must have looked like earlier. “Cas.” He said. “That was awesome.” Cas only grumbled incoherently in response. 

Really, Dean thought, this place was the best thing to ever happen to them.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Castiel had always had a rather strong faith. His mother had been very religious according to Gabriel, but their father had lost most of his faith after his wife’s death. He’d never had any interest in teaching his sons about God, so everything Castiel knew he had taught himself or learned through school. And Castiel very much believed that there was a God.

And he thanked that God now for one Dean Winchester. It was Dean who had needed him in the first place, Dean who had been lost and lonely and Castiel who had reached out a helping hand, but as it turned out Dean had helped him as much as Castiel helped Dean. 

Dean was his life, the center of his world and he never wanted to part with him. They were perfect for each other, like cogwheels fitting together and making both their lives run so much smoother. Castiel was aware of how much he needed Dean, of how empty his life had been without him, so he thanked God for that too. And he prayed to God to watch over Dean, to keep him safe where Castiel couldn’t.

And while Castiel sat praying in the sand, warmed by the fire, Dean was busy fetching them food. There was a line of tables on the street that twisted close to the ocean at this part of the beach. Everyone in the village had contributed something, there were piles of fruit, bowls filled with salad and sauces and bread and desserts and everything one could think of. Someone had even brought a whole keg of beer that now stood mounted on its very own table, a line of thirsty people gathering in front of it. There were also cases with bottled beer, but so far they were ignored in favor of fresh beer from the keg.

Dean came back with two plates of food balanced in his hands and two bottles of beer stuck under his arms. The whole arrangement looked rather haphazard but Dean managed to get everything over safely. Even though the food was piled so high it rivaled the tower of Babel. 

“We can always go for seconds you know.” Castiel said with a raised eyebrow as he took his plate from Dean. Dean grinned and pulled out two forks from where he had tugged them into his shirt. 

“I know, but I don’t plan on moving for a while.” Dean grinned and handed him one fork with a wink.

“How do you even do that?” Castiel eyed the fork, wondering where Dean had even put it and if he even wanted to know. 

“I’m good baby, that’s how I do it.” Dean’s grin widened as he and opened their beers with a bottle opener Castiel had no idea where he pulled it from. 

“There’s a dirty joke in there somewhere and I think it involves the word handy, but I’m too lazy and well-fucked to make it right now. Also I’m hungry.” Dean stared at him for a moment before he snorted a laugh. He had to put down his plate to protect the food and Castiel felt the warmth of a smile spread on his face. He loved Dean’s laugh, when he was carefree and happy and nothing remained of that broken burned out shell of a man he had met on that very first night so long ago.

He’d like to think it was his doing that Dean could laugh like that.

“Cas.” Dean said after he had finally managed to pull himself together again. “Don’t ever change. You are hilarious.”

“Well, I try to keep my priorities in order.”A cheer went up from the crowd around the fires and Castiel watched as a car pulled over next to the food tables.

“Should I be insulted that I am not your highest priority?” Dean joked next to him, and maybe it was the dark and the blatant joy radiating around them, but Castiel couldn’t tell if he was entirely joking. Three people climbed out of the car. One went right over to greet what must have been his friends the other opened the trunk which housed a huge sound system. 

Castiel tore his eyes away to look at Dean, who in turn was watching as the guy set up the sound system, rolling out cables and connecting them here and there. He was leaning back on his elbows, plate balanced on his belly and beer safe between his legs, easy smile on his lips and eyes bright in the dancing fire light. He was staring at the car and its crew, happy and relaxed, like there was nothing in this world that could take the joy away. 

“You are my topmost priority.” Castiel said quietly, watching Dean as his expression turned from a smile to a frown then to a smile again and was then forceful pulled into another frown. This one was rather playful.

“Don’t let Anna hear that.” 

Castiel laughed, putting his own half empty plate down for a break. “She already knows. Balthazar says I have been glowing for the past few weeks. He calls it quite annoying.”

“Yeah?” Dean asked softly, eyes warm in the firelight.

“Yeah.” Castiel replies. “All because of you.” And then they were kissing, food and beer forgotten and around them the crowd cheered again as the first chords of some song started playing and then Castiel lied on his back with Dean as his sky and he was warm inside out and then Dean bent down to kiss him again and the world around them ceased to matter.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

The thing about paradises was, it never lasted. Neither of them really wanted to leave on Sunday and they dragged out their departure as much as possible. It wasn’t that what they would return to was so bad; they would still be together, but their short vacation had felt like visiting a different world. One without sorrow, without pain, just the two of them and the endless rush of the waves.

But, as Castiel rightfully pointed out, they could always come back later. They weren’t going anywhere; Dean had no inclination to leave and Castiel was happy with how it was. 

They had all the time in the world.

Or so they thought.

 

**Chapter 10 - City of Consequence**

Dean’s phone had gained a gradual weight on Dean’s mind ever since they returned from their short vacation. He hadn’t turned it on for months but on a whim he had taken it from the glove compartment and brought it inside along with their bags the day before.

Now it lay on the coffee table, still turned off but fully charged, and Dean simply couldn’t keep it out of his mind. He was on candy duty since Cas was at work and while it provided a certain distraction, it wasn’t enough to keep him sufficiently distracted. And there was also the constant worry nagging at him that something might happen to Cas. Halloween was a busy night and not everyone was interested solely in candy. Dean had turned on the television, hoping the rerun of some crappy Halloween movie would distract him, but so far it was barely working.

His attention was drawn back from the screen to the phone still lying on the coffee table and he thought about picking it up for what must be the tenth time at least. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It was just a phone, but Dean knew that if he turned it on he would be swamped with messages and missed calls and the responsibility he couldn’t hide from forever. 

He had to call eventually. 

Dean had left months ago without so much of a word to anyone except John. And John had made it clear that he was through with his son. The rest of his makeshift family must have been crazy with worry, or worse, must have thought he was dead, and he couldn’t even bring himself to make one damn phone call. Even after all these months he still had no idea what to say to them. It had only gotten worse with time.

It had been hard enough to talk to Cas, someone who was a stranger to his previous life, but his family knew him; they had known Sam and they would want to talk. About Sammy. He wasn’t ready for that. Sam was dead and his family had the right to know about the life he built himself in Palo Alto and how it had ended but Dean could barely bear to think about it, let alone talk. Castiel had a way of taking away his pain but he couldn’t drag him into this.

It was his family though, and it would be a lie to say he didn’t miss them. He should just call and get it done with. He finally felt at peace here with Cas, surely his family wouldn’t begrudge him that. 

The doorbell rang and Dean was torn from his musings once again. He got up and picked up the bowl of candy placed on the shoe cabinet before he pulled open the door. Three children and one harried looking parent stood in front of him, a ghost, a pirate and what looked like a Disney princess crossed with a cowboy. The mother had put on a dotted skirt with a petticoat and looked overall done with her offspring.

“Trick or Treat.” The three kids shouted in perfect unison, beaming up at Dean, obviously not at all tired despite the late hour. 

He gave them their candy and sent them off, suddenly feeling rather exhausted. Seeing the ghost - a good old bed sheet with holes - had reminded him of the many Halloweens he and Sammy had made costumes from scratch, because their Dad was too busy drinking himself stupid to provide properly for his sons. Sometimes they got their hands on second hand costumes, but more often than not it had been long nights, sewing kits and a lot of silent cursing. And duct tape, because that shit fixed everything.

They had used the ghost sheet more than once. 

Dean looked to the phone on the coffee table where it silently laid, dark and accusing. He should have called a long time ago but at first he simply didn’t want to, not after the disastrous last conversation with John. And then time had passed and Dean hadn’t felt like calling and getting another lecture and before he knew it a month had passed and calling seemed redundant then. 

He knew though that in truth he was simply running away. That he was still running away; he merely had exchanged the comfort of strangers against the comfort of Cas’ arms. Everything just to forget the hollow feeling in his chest. But he couldn’t run away forever. His family deserved closure and he would never be able to move on if he just kept hiding. He didn’t want to keep continuing like this, feeling constantly torn between his life here and his old life back in Lawrence.

He didn’t even realize he had walked over and picked the phone up until he held it in his hand. His finger hovered over the power button but just as he resolved to press it, the doorbell rang again. Dean jumped so hard he almost dropped the phone. He placed it on the shoe cabinet when he went to open the door.

The bowl of candy was almost empty and Dean generously dumped the remaining contents into the bag of the tiny astronaut girl who kept clinging to the hand of what looked like her elder sister, shyly blinking up at him. Dean ignored the phone and went straight to sit on the couch, eyes focused on the television. He’d switched off the living room light in the hope people would realize that they were out of candy, but since they were in an apartment complex he doubted it would do any good.

Dean kept ignoring the few more rings of his doorbell, but it was much harder to ignore the invisible pull his phone seemed to have on him. He wished Cas were here; there was no better distraction, but Cas was on a double shift and wouldn’t be home until morning. 

Eventually he fell asleep though, guided into weird dreams by his troubled thoughts and crappy Halloween movies.

He woke up to a hand gently shaking him awake and when he opened his eyes he was met with warm blue. The effect Cas had on him was immediate. He was drowsy from sleep, but the anxiety was still there nestling in his belly, but as soon as he recognized Cas it eased considerably. Hadn’t he been so sleepy - and happy - he might have been afraid of this dependency. It was scary to need another human being this much, but it was hard to worry when the mere sight of Cas made his heart feel incredible light.

“Good morning sleepyhead.” Cas greeted with a tired smile. His face was drawn and exhausted but his eyes were bright and his smile warm. “I brought breakfast for you, but it can sit in the fridge for a while if you’d rather come to bed with me.” Cas wouldn’t ask but Dean knew he wanted Dean’s company. And since he still felt drowsy he just nodded and let Cas gently guide him to their bedroom. He flopped down on the bed, wriggling halfheartedly under the covers until Cas was finished changing and pulled the blanket over both of them.

And as soon as Cas was snuggled in behind him Dean was out like a light. Dreamless this time.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Dean decided to make the call the next day. They had spent the majority of the day after Halloween in bed, either sleeping or making out, only leaving for the bathroom or food. And in that safety of their bed, Dean had told Cas about his thoughts and he had listened with that quite non-judgmental way of his and Dean had finally found the strength to make a decision.

That was not to say, it had become any easier.

The phone felt like lead in Dean’s hand, weighing him down and he hadn’t even turned it on yet. He had to think for a moment before he remembered his password. The phone was silent for a moment but then it started buzzing and it wouldn’t stop as message after message came in. Over a hundred missed calls, dozens of unread messages and with every notification Dean felt his heart sink.

For a moment Dean’s finger hovered over the power button. It would be so easy to go back to how it was and just pretend he never tried. Dean took a deep breath. Cas had asked him if he wanted moral support when he did this but Dean had declined. It would be easier with Cas there but this was a private moment between him and his family. But now he wished he had said otherwise. He could use some support right now.

Dean ignored all the notifications and typed in Bobby’s number by memory. It came to him faster than his password, hardwired into his brain over years of calling Bobby whenever John had screwed up too badly and they needed an adult to help. And all the years after, when Bobby sometimes was the only one Dean could talk to, even if it was just about car repairs and things like that.

Bobby, and that thought only stung a little, was more a father to him than John ever had been, aside from maybe the time before Mary’s death. Dean pushed the call button and pressed the phone to his ear. There was a nervous lump in his stomach. What if Bobby didn’t want anything to do with him? After all John had had no problem cutting off his only left son like it was nothing.

The click when the call went through actually startled Dean. He almost hung up right then, but then Bobby’s gruff voice barked a hello and Dean felt inexplicably soothed. He hadn’t realized how much he missed the old man.

“Anyone there?” Bobby growled. “Listen there prankster, I got no time for your-“

“Bobby.” Dean’s voice was a mere croak; chocked so full with emotions he barely recognized it. There was a long silence, drawn out and only interrupted by the unnatural loud beating of Dean’s heart.

And then, “Dean, is that you?” Bobby sounded incredulous like he had no longer believed he would ever hear Dean’s voice again. It cut right into Dean’s heart.

“Hey Bobby.” Dean replied weakly and there was another beat of silence. 

“Where the hell have you been boy?” Bobby’s voice was loud with anger but there was as much worry there and Dean had to close his eyes for a moment. He deserved this, he knew as much.

“In LA.” When Bobby didn’t reply Dean added “It’s a long story,” knowing full well how little it covered and how weak it sounded. 

“You don’t say.” Bobby said dryly with maybe a bit more force than necessary, but the anger was mostly gone. Dean could hear the clinking of glass from the other end of the line and then the sound of liquid being poured. Dean waited patiently until Bobby had emptied his glass - whiskey most likely - and continued. “How are you?” The question sounded stilted, like Bobby had no idea how to handle a situation like this. He was making an effort, Dean could tell, not to yell, but that didn’t mean he made it any easier for Dean. 

He had, after all, no idea what to say.

“I’m okay.” Dean said and they both knew it was a lie. Bobby sighed. Bobby poured himself another drink and it was silent for a moment longer as he seemingly settled into a chair. He emptied his second glass.

Dean’s tongue was still tied. 

“Did John…“ He started but found he couldn’t finish. Bobby was their father as much as John was; he had seen Sammy grow up, had played baseball with them behind his house, had taken them out to dinner and picked them up from school. He knew them. Dean could barely handle his own pain, how was he supposed to handle Bobby’s too?

“He did.” Bobby said gruffly and there was the sound of another glass being filled and emptied and Dean wondered how he could ever feel alright again.

“Look I get it.” Bobby said eventually. “You ran away because you couldn’t handle your brother’s death, but you can’t just disappear like that. Folks were worried over here.” Dean swallowed. He’d sat down on the couch and was staring at the blank television screen, but it held as little answers as his mind. 

“I know.” He said, pushing a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, I just…“ He swallowed again, feeling the all too familiar prick of tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry.” He repeated, leaning forward until his forehead rested on his knees. Bobby swallowed another gulp of whiskey and set the glass down with a clink. Dean had lost track of how many glasses of whiskey that had been.

Bobby, he realized, was as little over Sam’s death as he was.

“We thought you were…“ Bobby cut off and there was a rustling sound. Dean imagined Bobby shaking his head against the phone on his ear. “It doesn’t matter, you are okay and that’s all that matters.” 

There was another pause and Dean realized belatedly that something was wrong. Bobby wouldn’t just let this slide like that, sure he was relieved that Dean was alright but he usually would lay into him immediately afterwards. It wasn’t like him at all.

“Bobby, what’s wrong?” Dean asked, sitting up. Already there was a feeling of dread pooling in his stomach. 

“Dean-“ He started but broke off again. There was the sound of clinking glass again but no pouring liquid. “Do you have something to drink?” Bobby asked suddenly and Dean frowned.

“No.”

“Then get some.” Bobby refilled his glass but didn’t yet drink it. “You won’t like this.” Dean’s frown deepened and the anxiety in his stomach made his insides churn. Bobby sighed again, frustrated now. “Who am I kidding? There’s not enough alcohol in the world to cushion that. 

“Bobby, what’s wrong?” Dean asked again, fear mounting even higher. Bobby wasn’t easily shaken, and usually he was the last person to worry about sugar coating things. 

“Listen Dean, this is in no way your fault.” Bobby started and Dean’s stomach made a dive down into his legs. 

“What happened?” He could no longer sit still. Dean stood up and started pacing, hands raking through his hair as he waited for Bobby to spill it. Dread sat heavy in his gut and he was painfully reminded of that moment the hospital had called about Sam.

“John is dead.” 

The words hung in the air for a moment. Dean didn’t comprehend. He must have misheard. Bobby was silent, waiting for Dean to process the information but Dean’s mind was in a constant loop. He could taste bile on his tongue. This wasn’t possible.

“What?” He asked and prayed desperately at the same time that he had just misheard.

Bobby didn’t reply but he didn’t have to. There was no way he would get something like this wrong.

“How?”He could barely form the words, tongue feeling sluggish and unwilling to move. It was Sam all over again, only back then there had been that small tendril of hope that Sam would make it out alive, against all odds. Now, he just felt like he had been crushed by a mountain.

“He drank too much, passed out and chocked to death on his own vomit.” Bobby sounded weary like he had told this story way too often already. Like this was an end he had seen coming but was unable to prevent.

“When?” Dean didn’t have the strength left to speak in more than one word sentences. He wasn’t sure if he even had the strength to handle the answer. Bobby was quiet; the only sound the constant rush of the traffic outside, a sound Dean barely noticed but now seemed peculiarly loud. He focused on that now.

“When?” Dean repeated, louder and more forceful this time. Bobby’ silence had only added to his suspicion. But then again Dean didn’t really need a time point to put the pieces together. It was too obvious to be a coincidence.  
“A few days after you left.” Dean closed his eyes, willing the world that had started spinning around him to stop. But the feeling of nausea didn’t relent. He felt sick to his stomach, a feeling all too familiar. “He wasn’t quite himself. I barely got the story out of him after you called from the funeral.” Bobby fell silent and the room kept spinning, even with his eyes closed. Everything was falling apart.

“Dean, this isn’t on you.” Bobby said again, but Dean barely listened. How could this not be on him? He had selfishly ran away, had left his father alone with his alcohol problems and the ghost of Mary that had never stopped haunting him. He should have known that John wouldn’t be able to handle Sam’s death, just as he hadn’t handled Mary’s. Dean hadn’t even tried to reach out. This was merely the consequence of his selfish behavior. 

“Right.” Dean said without meaning it. He had sat down again, but the floor still felt like it was made of water. A car honked outside and there was the sound of screeching tires and Dean wondered if it would ever end. He had known that it wasn’t right to run away like that, but he had done it anyway and now his father was dead. Just as Sam had died far away from his family because Dean had been too afraid to reach out.

He was the only one left.

“Dean?” Bobby sounded worried and Dean had the sudden urge to run again. Throw away the phone, pack his things and just drive until he had outrun the pain. “Are you there?”

“Yeah.” Dean said, voice hollow and clogged with tears. He hadn’t even realized he had started crying. He couldn’t run away again. How could he leave Cas and everything they had built together? Leaving hadn’t brought Sam back and it wouldn’t bring John back. Sam might still be alive if Dean hadn’t avoided his responsibility as a big brother and John would still be alive if he hadn’t lost his second son too.

The truth was simple, it always was but it took Dean too long to realize that.

“I’m fine.”

There was nowhere for him to go. His place was at home with his family where he belonged. Where he should have stayed so none of this would have happened. 

“Don’t sound like it.” Bobby said, worried now and that was really all Dean ever did. Worry people Dean clenched his hand into a fist, nails digging into his palm but the tears wouldn’t stop. He could barely make out the room in front of him as the tears blurred everything.

“I’m fine.” He repeated and maybe that was just another form of running away. But Dean couldn’t be strong. He and Cas had built this life on clouds and now everything was collapsing around him while Dean could only watch. 

“Good.” Bobby said and there was the telltale clink of a glass put down and Dean desperately wished for his own bottle of whiskey. “Keep in touch, will you?” Bobby wasn’t asking him to return and Dean was more relieved that he’d expected. He didn’t want to leave this place where he had found happiness again, didn’t want to return to that house that was haunted with three ghosts now. 

“If you want to talk…” Bobby was clearly uncomfortable and he had every right to be. They weren’t made for heart to hearts and Bobby had lost his formerly best friend; he wasn’t supposed to pick up the pieces for Dean. 

“No, it’s fine.” He forced himself to say. There was silence again until Bobby cleared his throat and Dean already knew what he was going to say.

“It’s alright Bobby I won’t run away again.” The words sounded hollow on his tongue and maybe Bobby could tell but he didn’t say anything just hummed and poured himself another drink. Maybe he hoped just as much as Dean did that it wouldn’t be a lie.

“Okay then. I’ll tell the others you called. Ellen will want to have a word with you, but I tell her to give you time. Call me if you need anything.” Bobby said and the awkwardness still hadn’t left. Dean wondered how much had changed during his absence - because of his absence. There had been a time when Bobby would have demanded him coming home with a lot of yelling on the way. Now he was treated like a skittish animal. 

“Okay.” Dean said and it already took too much effort. All he wanted was roll into a ball and forget the world. “Bye Bobby.” He added and the words felt heavy, like stones falling from his lips.

“Bye son.” Bobby said and he sounded fond and sad and so much more at the same time, it broke Dean’s heart. The line clicked and there was silence.

Dean stared at the phone in his hand, at the screen with the notifications count still blinking and he was driven by a sudden mad hope. He clicked the notifications and scrolled through the list until the very first missed call after his disastrous conversation with John.

From all the names listed, not one of them was John’s. There was a numbness that spread to him and the hollowness he so successfully had kept away was tearing at his insides again. John hadn’t even tried to contact him once after they hung up.

John had died being disappointed in Dean.

Sam had died thinking he was no longer welcome in his family.

There was nothing Dean could do about it.

He was poison to the people closest to him. 

There was only one thing he could do about that.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

The apartment was dark when Castiel returned from work. At first he thought Dean had gone out but then he found him sitting in the dark living room, staring blankly at the phone in his hand. Castiel had a sinking feeling in his stomach. The call must have not gone well then.

Pausing in the door to the living room, he watched Dean’s slumped silhouette. Castiel felt heavy all of a sudden, like a weight had settled over him. “Dean?” He hesitantly called out, but Dean didn’t show any reaction. Only when he switched on the light did Dean react, startling like he’d just woken from a deep slumber.

Dean looked up and Castiel felt his heart clench at how empty his eyes were. He almost looked like that first night when he had taken him home. Defeated.

“Hey Cas.” Dean said but his voice sounded hollow.

“Dean?” Castiel took a tentative step forward, feeling suddenly strange and unwelcome in his own home. “What happened?”

“Life I guess.” Dean said and put his phone down on the coffee table. He frowned at it like it purposely withheld the answer he had been looking for. “Or rather death.” Castiel swallowed but forced himself to walk over to the couch and sat down next to him. He had no idea what was going on or how to react and that made him incredibly nervous.

“My father died.” Dean said it like it was nothing, but Castiel see how much effort it took him to appear like that. Dean was hurting but he forced himself to keep all the emotions down. 

“If you want to talk…” Castiel started, thinking desperately how badly equipped he was to handle something like this. Dean only snorted. 

“Talk, right. As if that ever changed anything.” He sighed and shook his head. “Sorry Cas, I’m just…” He shrugged and leaned back against the couch, head tilted until he was staring at the ceiling. “I need to…” He trailed off again, brows pulled into a frown as if he himself didn’t know what he needed. 

“It’s my fault you know.” Dean had closed his eyes, arms crossed over his forehead and he sounded so weary it cut right into Castiel’s heart. 

“Dean-“

“Don’t” Dean was looking at him now. “Just don’t.” He sighed again, heavily and then he turned to face Castiel fully. “Just hold me, okay?” He looked so vulnerable in that moment, like a kid asking for his mother and Castiel swallowed down all the empty words of comfort and the curious questions and all the other things that swam around in his head. Castiel scooted closer to Dean and pulled him into his arms. Dean was tense for a moment, but then all the tension drained from him and he collapsed against Castiel.

He could feel wetness on his shoulder but Castiel didn’t say anything, he just held Dean closer. 

Castiel couldn’t tell how long they sat like that. Only that Dean kept shaking and that his hands clung tightly to the back of his shirt and Castiel tried to reassure himself that everything would be fine if they just kept holding on to each other. It would be fine, it had to be. As long as they had each other it would turn out alright. 

Dean calmed down eventually, but he didn’t move away. His hands slid down Castiel’s back to his hips and then even further down until they rested on Castiel’s ass. It took him longer than it should to realize that the gesture was of sexual nature. 

“Dean?” He tried to pull away to look at Dean, but he tightened his hold on Castiel. His fingers slipped under the hem of Castiel’s pants, cupping his ass cheeks and massaging gently. It felt wrong somehow, Dean was in shock and Castiel shouldn’t let him do this. But it felt too good already, Dean knowing exactly how to touch him and Castiel couldn’t deny the relief he felt that Dean still wanted him.

This had to mean they would be okay.

And that was why he let Dean continue.

Dean was eager, frantic almost as he pushed Castiel down on the couch. Castiel had half a mind to propose moving to the bedroom, but Dean’s hands were already under his clothes, hot and demanding and it was all too easy to just give in. He was divested of his shirt and then Dean pulled down his pants and before he knew it he was completely naked while Dean was still dressed. 

Castiel reached up to tug at Dean’s shirt but he wouldn’t let him, instead pushing his hands down above his head and silencing every protest with his tongue. The kiss was hard, almost violent in Dean’s haste to get inside and it ignited a fire under Castiel’s skin he didn’t know he was capable of. They had had rough sex plenty of times before, but this seemed different. Dean took what he wanted from Castiel but refused him to do the same. Still Castiel felt like he was the one being served.

Castiel was too aroused to form any clear thought.

He was essentially gagged with Dean’s tongue in his mouth, a circumstance Castiel arranged himself with all too easily. Every time Dean touched him somewhere sensitive he moaned lewdly, knowing full well how much Dean loved to hear him. But now there was barely any sound, because Dean swallowed everything with his tongue and somehow it spurred him on even more.

Dean pumped him rapidly, his own still clothed erection was pressing into Castiel’s hips and he tried to buck up into the tight heat of Dean’s body. Castiel’s hands were still held down by Dean and he twisted them until he could wrap his fingers around Dean’s, needing the reassuring contact as much as he hoped Dean would appreciate it. This was merely a band-aid for Dean, and as aroused as Castiel was, he still knew that. 

The pace was relentless for a few more pulls but then Dean slowed down. His kiss also gentled and now there was an almost soft reverence to it. Dean eased his grip on Castiel’s fingers and then withdrew his hand completely to drag it down his side. He still didn’t break the kiss though. Castiel used his now free hands to card through Dean’s hair, rub a thumb behind his ears until he could feel the last of the tension ease. This time Dean didn’t stop him when he let his hands wander lower and when Castiel tugged on Dean’s shirt he even leaned back to let him pull it over his head. He then helped Castiel with pushing his pants down.

Their eyes met for a moment and Castiel was startled by the blankness in Dean’s face. His face was flushed and showed all the signs of arousal, but his eyes were strangely empty. It was almost too much so Castiel pulled him down and back into a kiss, frantic now, intent on erasing that expression from Dean’s eyes. Dean pushed his hips down until their cocks touched and Castiel let out a low moan as he started rubbing them together.

Dean’s breath had accelerated and he was panting low into their kiss and Castiel dragged his hands down his spine, knowing how much Dean liked the bite of nails on his skin. Castiel started to rock his hips up against the drag of Dean’s skin on his. Their kiss became sloppy, barely more than the wet press of open mouth against open mouth. Castiel lifted one of his hands back into Dean’s hair and tilted his head until he could drag his teeth over the rough stubble on his cheek. Dean made an aborted sound deep in the back of his throat, something that could have been a sob or a moan or something else and Castiel pulled him closer against his body.

He could felt the heat building in his abdomen, slowly spreading out into the rest of his body until every inch of him felt like it was on fire. He was burning with it, the feeling of Dean so close, like they were one being instead of two. 

“Dean.” He moaned and then again, and again until Dean’s name fell from his lips like a prayer. Dean’s rocking had become irregular; his hand latched on to Castiel’s hip and clung tightly, shifting them until Castiel’s cock had slipped between Dean’s legs. Castiel moaned in surprise, back arching at the new sensation and he tried to find Dean’s mouth again but he failed, lips falling on the side of his face instead.

His climax was mounting rapidly, Dean’s name had turned into wrecked gasps and then he was coming, quick and violent spouts of white on the back of Dean’s legs. Dean shuddered and let out a soft almost whiny moan before he collapsed on Castiel, body heavy on top of him. His erection was still prominent and hard against Castiel’s thigh but Dean didn’t seem like he wanted to move anytime soon.

Castiel gently propped them up, angling them until he could look at Dean. The blankness was gone; instead Dean just looked exhausted, like all the energy had been drained from him. He gingerly reached forward to take Dean into his hand - returning the favor - but Dean flinched so violently he almost fell off the couch.

“Don’t touch me.” He snapped and Castiel pulled his hand back.

Dean climbed off him, scrambling until he was perched on the edge of the couch, eying Castiel warily. “Cas please, just don’t.” Castiel twisted his hands in his lap, unsure what to do with them now that Dean so obviously didn’t want to be touched. 

Castiel watched as Dean hastily pulled on his clothes. He reached over to pick up his own clothes, suddenly very conscious of his own nakedness. Something was so obviously wrong, but Castiel still couldn’t tell what it was.

“Dean.” He tried, but somehow the word felt redundant on his lips. Like he had said it way too often already, like it had lost all the meaning it had once held. Like he no longer could reach Dean through it.

“This isn’t working Cas.” Dean said, voice bare of any emotion. Castiel’s heart did a painful throb before it seemingly dropped through the floor. 

“What isn’t working?” He asked, forcing every last nerve in his body to remain calm. 

“This.” Dean made a wide gesture with his hand. “Us.”

Castiel swallowed. There was a burning sensation in his eyes and he realized belatedly that it was tears. “How can you ask that?” His words sounded choked and all the worry and fear he had repressed since entering the room came flooding back.

“How can you ask that?” Dean’s eyes were wide, like a hunted animal and Castiel had to clench his hands into fists lest he reached out to him. 

“Dean, I don’t understand what you’re saying.” Castiel was torn between all the things he wanted to say or do, but Dean just stood there, all tense lines and all he could do was sit and stare. And desperately wishing that this wasn’t the end.

“How can you not understand?” Dean snapped and Castiel almost flinched. His mind was whirling but there was no answer he could give.

“Don’t you see what happened?” Dean visibly forced himself to calm again but he was still angry, Castiel could tell. “Dad is dead because of me. I ran away and he died because I wasn’t there like the good son I’m supposed to be.”

“Dean that wasn’t-“ 

But Dean talked right over him. “I am a failure, can’t you see that? I failed at being a son and I failed at being a brother. How long do you think until I fail at being a boyfriend too? I don’t want to wait for that to happen. This should have never gone on as long as it did. It was nice Cas, really it was, but if I stay I’ll just end up making you unhappy.”

Castiel could feel the anger rise now, even though he knew it was irrational. But Dean’s words were even more irrational and illogical and they just had sex and how could Dean even do that when he so obviously wanted to break up. “So you’re making this about me?” He snapped and something in Dean’s face shifted, like Castiel had given him the reaction he had aimed for. “What kind of logic is that?”

“Look, I’m just-“

“What? Trying to protect me? From you? Don’t you think I made my own choice when I invited you into my life?” 

Dean made a harsh sound in the back of his throat that could have been a laugh or something else, Castiel couldn’t tell. “You made a choice alright. You choose to be charitable and picked a stray up from the street. Don’t tell me you expected this to last? That’s pathetic Castiel, and you know that.”

Castiel reeled back from the force of Dean’s words. He was aware, somewhere at the back of his mind that Dean was intentionally lashing out, but despite that he couldn’t keep the last shreds of his patience from slipping. “So you think it was pathetic of me to give you a home when you needed one? It was pathetic of me to help you, is that what you think? I didn’t plan to fall in lov-“ He cut himself off but it was already too late. Castiel could see the shock on Dean’s face, so much shock and disbelief and then anger, only anger.

“Don’t say that. Don’t you dare call it that. We had sex for a while and it was nice but it has to end now.” 

“Oh is that what it was?” Castiel snapped back, all reason gone - overruled by the terrible need to lash out and hurt Dean as bad as he was hurting him. “It sure as hell didn’t feel like that, isn’t that so **boyfriend**? Or why else did you just fuck me?” 

This time it was Dean who reeled back and Castiel could actually see the last bit of good will vanish from Dean’s face. His words, he realized, had been a terrible mistake. They might have had a chance to fix this still, but now Dean looked at him with so much cold hate that all the anger drained right out of Castiel.

“I fucked you because I owed you.” There was still anger in his voice but it was subdued, overshadowed by the cold that dripped from every syllable. “There was nothing more to it than that.” He said and there was no doubt in Castiel’s mind that he really meant it. 

Castiel was beyond the point of anger. He desperately wished he could take back his words or turn back time or do anything to wipe away that expression on Dean’s face. How could things have gone wrong so fast? Only this morning they had been fine, happy together and now everything had gone to ashes.

“Don’t do this Dean.” He asked, looking at Dean with all the sincerity he could muster. But he knew it was in vain. Dean had made up his mind already. His face told as much. Castiel wanted to scream.

“And then what? You think you can fix me?” Dean’s anger was back but it seemed weary now, like they had played this game for too long already.

“I want to help you Dean.” Castiel said, looking at Dean in all earnest but already knowing that it was too late. 

“Stop it Cas.” And the anger was back in full force again. “Stop trying to fix me. Stop trying to save me. You can’t save me. I can’t go on like this, acting as if everything were fine, when in truth it’s not. I haven’t been okay since Sam died.”

Castiel looked down, no longer able to meet Dean’s eyes. He couldn’t handle the rejection in them. It wasn’t Dean who needed him; Castiel realized bitterly, it had always been the other way round. And he had selfishly tried to bind Dean to him by forcibly becoming his crutch A crutch that had only prevented him from moving on. “So that is it.” He concluded and there was only so much he could do to keep the bitterness from his voice.

“That’s it.” Dean echoed and for a moment they just stood there, silently staring at each other like the countless times before. Only this time there was no peace between them. But then Dean was moving, quickly collecting what few belongings he had and then he was walking out the door, key dropped on the shoe cabinet and all the while Castiel sat there, staring ahead and wondering where he had gone wrong. The first tear fell when the door slammed.

They wouldn’t stop until morning.

 

**Chapter 11 - City of Loss**

He was running away again.

Dean was right where he had started. In a bar in Los Angeles, filled up with cheap whiskey and the desperate need to stuff that hole that kept eating away at him. Dean had driven straight here, mind carefully kept blank the whole time. His mind was his enemy at the moment. It would always conjure the image of Cas’ face, the hurt on it, as Dean hurled all those words and accusations at him.

If he’d looked at what happened too closely he would see all the cracks in his argument, he would see what a sorry excuse for a partner - and a human being - he really was and Dean knew he couldn’t handle that. He was too close to breaking already. 

Dean focused his attention on the small things, the way the bartender kept shooting him worried glances at his high rate of intake, the way the ceiling light reflected on the bottles lined up on the shelves, the buzz of voices behind him - everything to keep his thoughts clear. He had drunken quite a lot already but he was still way too cognizant.

Someone approached him; probably intent on buying him a drink but Dean waved them away without looking. He had toyed with the idea of going home with someone, take the edge off the night with a good fuck, but the mere thought had Dean’s stomach turn. He remembered the dirty feeling after Alastair had touched him far too well. And thinking of doing it with someone else than Cas-

He signaled the bartender and within seconds his glass was refilled. Dean emptied it immediately, putting it down with an expectant look and after briefly meeting the man’s eye, the bartender put the bottle down in front of him with a shrug. The bottle was almost empty but at least he could drink in peace for a while.

It took him way too little time to empty what was left of the whiskey and even then he still felt that ache in his chest. It was different from what he had felt after Sammy’s death. He felt trapped and lost, unable to go forward but the way pack was blocked off too. There was nowhere for him to go, nothing to ease the pain. Dean felt the sudden urge to smash the bottle against the wall.

Instead he slapped a few bills on the counter and stood up. He staggered for a moment, placing a hand on the counter to regain his balance. He was more drunk than he’d expected, but how come his mind was still so clear? He couldn’t forget Cas’ face and how broken he had seemed there, alone in their living room as Dean broke their world apart. And then there was the pain and loss about his father’s dead, something he was almost too numb to feel.

The scene in front of his eyes was blurring, shapes washing into each other but after Dean forced a few deep breaths his sight cleared. He had to use a considerate amount of concentration to walk in a more or less straight line and reach the front door, but it also took most of his brain’s capacity away from other things. Dean was glad for it. 

No one paid him any mind and Dean had no eye for the blurred faces that passed him. Part of him wished he could find comfort - or at least oblivion - in the arms of another stranger. But the much bigger part of him knew that was futile. Nothing he did would ever make him forget Cas. Nothing would ever erase the memories of their short time of happiness. And nothing would ever erase that completely defeated look on Cas’ face shortly before he left.

The world was blurring again and it took Dean a moment to realize that he was crying. He’d reached the Impala - parked in a narrow street a few blocks down - and he fumbled with his keys until he had opened the door. He made no attempt at wiping off his tears; they would just keep coming anyway. Dean sat down in the front seat, tears still flowing and then he just sat there, wondering what the hell he was even doing.

He was running away again, but there was no way that he could stay, was there? Dean was tired of it, tired of his mind running in circles, never coming up with an answer. Tired of the constant doubts and questions, how he could never seem to get it right either way. And he was so damn tired of losing the things he loved to chance and stupid coincidences and accidents and things he couldn’t control. No matter what he did, he simply couldn’t win.

Dean fell asleep like that, cramped up in the front space of the Impala, dried tear tracks on his face and a heavy mind. He dreamed of that little village not far from San Diego. Sam was there with them and they were playing out on the beach, waves crashing endlessly on the shore and he was so damn happy he could cry.

In a way it was worse than having a nightmare. Waking up from a nightmare brought relief, waking up from this was merely another nightmare.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

There was no routine in his life now. Dean had been drifting for the past few days, still unable to leave Los Angeles behind. He kept in contact with Bobby and Ellen, as much concession as he was able to make, but other than that he had let himself go. Dean knew he should drive back home, get his life back on track but he couldn’t leave the city behind.

He couldn’t leave what little he had left of Cas behind.

Leaving Los Angeles felt like abandoning his last chance at a happy ending. Dean had thought of going back to Cas more than once; he had actually driven over to his apartment but then he had sat there in his car and stared at the lit windows and he couldn’t move. He had shut that door and going back would only hurt them both. He couldn’t give Cas what he deserved, he was broken - damaged good - and Cas would only realize that no matter how much he wanted to believe it, he could never fix Dean. And Dean couldn’t go on depending on someone so badly like he had on Cas. 

Dean was drifting, just barely scraping by since he used most of his money on alcohol, desperate to take off the edge of reality. He lacked the energy to hustle pool so he had to rely on what he had saved up. He’d been sleeping in his car every night, drunk to a point where he would pass out into a dreamless sleep. The days passed in a mindless haze, Dean could barely remember most of the time. 

He felt aimless and lost, without a purpose and the feeling was eating away at him. He could remember feeling similar when he’d drifted after Sam’s death but it still felt different now. Before he had found a sense in punishing himself, in trading his body away for a bed to sleep in and he’d had a goal then, as morbid as it was, but he had sought an end then. Now he didn’t know what there was left to look for.

Ellen would call him every day at random times and berate him to come home, while Bobby made an effort to show patience but he was worried just as much as Ellen was. Sometimes Jo would talk to him after Ellen and it was after those conversations that he felt the strongest urge to return home. But home was still the place where Sam had left him, where John had died and where he had lived for years with the ghost of a dead mother. He couldn’t face that. 

Bobby offered to let him stay over at his place, so did Ellen, but to Dean it was just all the same. There was no place in Lawrence that was all his, everything was interspersed with memories of Sam and John and Mary even. So he stayed where he was, clothes dirty for lack of washing and no goal other than to survive the next day. 

And in the midst of this - the shattered remnants of what used to be his life - Balthazar found him. He must have actively searched for him, gone through all the bars they had gone to together and all the others Dean had mentioned in passing and then some more. Either way Balthazar found him and in that very moment Dean learned that his world had in fact not been broken completely.

He still had something he could lose. 

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Castiel knew he was reckless. Losing Dean had skewed his perspective dramatically. He had known that he had been foolishly dependent on Dean, but knowing that had done little to protect his heart from breaking.

Life had lost all its meaning.

The first day had been the hardest. Castiel hadn’t slept that night and the next day he had stayed at home, afraid to leave in case Dean would change his mind and come home. But Dean didn’t come home and Castiel went to bed with a heart that felt like a cold stone in his chest.

He slept but he was plagued by nightmares and the next morning Balthazar stood on his doorstep to make sure he came to work. Castiel dove into his routine then, because there was nothing else left for him to do. This way he at least could feel some resemblance of a purpose. It served well enough to keep his mind distracted.

He couldn’t escape the memories at night though. 

Castiel knew he should be ashamed to admit how much he needed Dean – Balthazar told him as much, but there was nothing he could do about it. He loved Dean, needed Dean and now that he was gone his life was empty.

But there were also moments when Castiel wanted to take the cup of coffee in his hands and smash it against the wall; he wanted to scream and curse and most of all he wanted to punch Dean in the face for all his misplaced guilt and issues. He wanted to punish Dean for breaking them both. But those were rare and they left Castiel with a stale taste in his mouth and the crippling knowledge that if Dean stood on his doorstep now, he would welcome him back with open arms.

He was weak like that.

Castiel threw himself into his work, taking job after job, regardless of risk in the hope it would take his mind off things. Part of him kept his eyes open for Dean; he started to frequent bars at night in the hope to find Dean, but he was always shadowed by the fear of actually finding him. He didn’t know what he would do then.

And then, by miraculous chance or maybe it was fate – Castiel thought it must have been fate – they got their first concrete lead on Alastair’s whereabouts. It was late, Castiel and Balthazar were on night shift and they were the only ones at the station right now. The tip had been from the night guard hired to watch over a selection of warehouses. According to him Alastair frequented one of the warehouses close to the waterline and tonight he had seen him again. 

Driven by the irresistible urge to protect Dean – even now – Castiel had dragged Balthazar to their car with little explanation and told him to drive to the according address. It was reckless, there was proper procedure to follow in these cases, the least to do was call for back up, but there was no time and Alastair was only ever there for a few hours per night and this might be his only chance-

His thoughts were running in circles and Castiel forced a deep calming breath. Balthazar shot him an irritated glance from the driver’s seat. “Are you going to tell me what this is all about Cassie?” He asked as they stopped at a red light. It was shortly after midnight, the streets were mostly empty, but the night was still illuminated by countless windows and neon signs. Castiel felt restless.

“We’re going after Alastair.” Castile said solemnly. He wasn’t looking at Balthazar but he could feel the scrutiny of his gaze. The traffic light switched to green and Balthazar shifted his eyes back to the road but Castiel could still feel his focus on him.

“There’s a million things I could say to that Cassie but I think ‘what the hell?’ is summing it up pretty well.” Castiel noted how Balthazar wasn’t slowing down the car, despite his obvious reservations. But then again if Castiel had had any doubts about Balthazar’s loyalty, he wouldn’t have taken him with him.

“I have to set this right Balthazar.” Castiel replied, still staring out the window, watching as the city washed by in colors of black and gold. 

“Is this about Dean?” Castiel didn’t reply. “Of course this is about Dean.” Balthazar sighed.”Anna will have our heads for this.” He shook his head. “I worry about you Cassie.” They turned a corner and the warehouse district came into view. After another few turns they reached the location of their target. Balthazar pulled the car over to the side of the road. “I should probably try and talk you out of this.” Balthazar said as he pulled the key from the ignition.

Castiel was glancing out the window, trying to get a good view of the warehouse front, but they were too far away. He could feel his skin itch with the urge to do something. He wanted to close his hands around Alastair’s neck until the life drained out of him, until the anger in his blood was quenched, until he no longer could feel the pain in his chest.

Balthazar sighed again and pushed open the door. Castiel hadn’t even realized he had unbuckled his seat belt. “Oh Cassie.” He said and with that he was out of the car. Castiel swallowed down the nagging doubts and followed him. This was all kinds of stupid, but even knowing that, Castiel couldn’t have stopped. He hadn’t been able to protect Dean, to save him, this was the only thing left for him to do.

Castiel and Balthazar had been partners for years so there was no need for much communication before they fell into position. Castiel’s nerves were on edge, frayed and frazzled and it was slowly sinking in how screwed up their plan was. This was madness and Castiel knew he should call it off or at least call for back up but the heavy feeling in his gut intensified every time he even thought of it. He needed to do this or the angry despair in his gut would consume him.

They had split up; Castiel would go in the front while Balthazar would enter through the back. According to the night guard’s information Alastair usually came alone so the two of them should be enough.

The warehouse was dark; there was no sound at all and Castiel half feared that Alastair had left already. He checked in with Balthazar through his radio and made sure that he was on his position before he carefully nudged open the front door. He had noticed earlier that a chain and a heavy padlock lay on the ground next to the door, which hopefully meant that Alastair was still there. The door screeched in its hinges and Castiel cursed under his breath. 

He stood back against the outer wall, gun gripped tight in his hands, counting in his head to ten and listening for any traitorous sounds from inside. But the silence kept stretching so Castiel figured no one had heard him. 

“I’m in.” Balthazar announced and Castiel replied a short affirmative. The inside of the warehouse was huge and glaringly empty. Castiel could see Balthazar at the other end, next to a small door close to one corner. He gave him a short salute and then gestured to the other side of the warehouse where a metal staircase led up to some sort of gallery. There were a few more rooms up there and through the window on one of the doors shone a soft yellow light. Someone was there. 

They regrouped at the bottom of the staircase, Castiel taking point while Balthazar secured the rear. Castiel fell back into his police training, years of experience kicking in. It was better like that. His mind was focused on the job at hand and not on the torrent of emotions whirling in his chest, the constant throb that reminded him of the warmth that had once resided in his heart.

There were quiet voices drifting from the lit room and Castiel signaled Balthazar to stop. They had to determine how many targets there were and how they were going to proceed. The goal was to arrest Alastair, but they had no way of telling if his companion was a criminal too. But considering that they were meeting in the middle of the night strongly hinted at business of the shady kind. 

It was either in or leave and the latter was out of the question. Balthazar exchanged one meaningful look with Castiel before he carefully moved to the other side of the door, making sure he could neither be heard nor seen from the inside. Castiel wished he’d brought a mirror with him so he could sneak a look through the window but as they were it was too risky to look inside. All they had was the moment of surprise on their side. 

They exchanged another look and Balthazar nodded once to signal his readiness. His mouth was set into a hard line and he was clearly unhappy about this, but Castiel knew he wouldn’t hesitate. Castiel took a moment to listen to the quiet conversation but he couldn’t make out any words. He was sure thought that there were only two people talking.

He gave Balthazar another signal. He leaned his back against the wall, making sure he was out of the line of fire before he pushed down the handle and shoved the door open. The voices grew quiet and then someone cursed audibly. Castiel stepped forward, raising his gun, bracing himself for whatever might be in that room.

Whatever Castiel expected it was a million miles away from the picture that unfolded in front of his eyes. There were two men, both casually dressed and seemingly torn from a pleasant conversation as they had been seated in plush armchairs with each a glass of wine in hand and a plate of cheese on a nearby side table. But there was a third man there, bound and gagged, blood matting his hair and covering half of his face. There was a bloody knife next to the grapes and next to that a severed ear. The air was permeated with the stench of blood.

The sight stunned Castiel for a moment and he was unable to move. He had seen worse - God, he had seen so much worse - but there was something about the casualty of the scene they had interrupted, everything from the calm conversation drifting so innocently through the door to the cooled glass of wine, that turned Castiel’s stomach violently. To think that he’d almost lost Dean to a man like this.

He hesitated only for a second but that was already enough. Castiel had his gun pointed at the center of the room, both men in easy range, but one of them had already been moving when Castiel appeared, diving behind the armchair and pulling a gun in the same movement. Castiel stood in Balthazar’s way so he was the only one in the line of fire right now and while he didn’t hesitate to pull the trigger the moment his mind snapped back into function it was already too late. 

Two gunshots rang through the air. Castiel saw red bloom on the chest of the second man, the one who had only half raised and then frozen at the sight of the intruders; he collapsed quietly to the floor. But there was also a sharp pain Castiel’s side, and he could feel the world swaying around him. The hand he instinctively pressed to his side came away wet and splashed in red.

Someone shouted and then Castiel was pushed out of the way as another shot was fired. Balthazar brushed past him, shoving him roughly to the ground and kicked over the armchair with one powerful swing of his leg, aiming his gun straight at the man’s head. 

Castiel’s sight was skewed, framed with black mist and blurry, but he would have recognized that face everywhere. It was Alastair. Balthazar kicked the gun that was aimed somewhere to Castiel’s left - the position he had been in only moments before - out of his hand and then roughly forced the man down on his front, arms behind his back. He bound his thumbs together with cable binder, before he checked the man Castiel had shot down. It must all have happened incredibly fast but to Castiel it felt like time was dragging through honey.

There was a buzz in Castiel’s ears and he kept thinking that he was missing something but he couldn’t tell what it was. His left side felt like someone had burned a hole through him but the area around was oddly cold. He watched Balthazar move around the room, wondering why he couldn’t hear anything, why everything he could hear was the rush of blood through his ears. He must have passed out then because next he knew he was on his back and something heavy draped over his side and Balthazar’s frantic face right in front of him. 

The heavy scent of blood was cloying his nose and Castiel remembered the poor man on the floor. He tried to move and check on him but he didn’t have any strength. He tried to speak but he didn’t know what he was saying. There was no sound and Balthazar’s face blurred out of focus again.

There was a strangely peaceful feeling settling in Castiel’s chest. They had done it; they had caught Alastair and with the way they found him, there was no doubt he would get convicted, even without Dean as a witness. He’d done his duty and Dean was finally free now.

It was only then that he realized that he’d tried to say Dean’s name. 

And in that moment Castiel couldn’t even tell if it was a wish or a curse.

It must have been both.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Balthazar wasn’t driving fast enough. Dean was tapping his foot impatiently, cursing every red light, every slow turn of a car in front of them, everything that delayed them. 

**Castiel has been shot**. 

It had been Sammy all over again and it had been John, both mixed up into one horrible message. The time lag until the words actually settled it, the mad rush of shock and adrenaline and panic all at once and then the frantic beating of his heart that just wouldn’t stop until his hands were shaking. Dean couldn’t remember if he’d felt this worse when he heard about Sam or even when he heard about his father. 

Balthazar had told him that Cas was out of mortal danger and the relief he had felt was so immense he’d almost collapsed on his feet. 

The wound was severe though and he would take a long time to recover. All Dean wanted now was to be there for him. All the doubts he had had before, all the things he had been so sure would stand in between them, all the reasons why he and Cas could never be together suddenly seemed so irrelevant. He wanted to be with Cas and make sure he never got hurt again.

It was as simple as that.

Balthazar had told him the specifics after they’d gotten into the car, and Dean now was filled with a gut wrenching form of dread. He hadn’t outright said it but Balthazar must have partly blamed Dean for what happened. There was no other reason after all for Cas to go after Alastair like that. Recklessly.

Dean felt sick.

Balthazar pulled into the parking lot in front of the hospital and suddenly Dean felt rooted to the spot. He and Cas hadn’t parted on good terms, what if Cas didn’t want to see him? He could feel Balthazar’s eyes on him. 

“I will never understand why, but Cassie did this for you.” He said, voice heavy with disapproval but there was also a wistful note underneath. Balthazar sighed. “I am not completely blameless either so I will hold back any judgment, but you have some serious making up to do. Again I can’t understand why but the man in there loves you madly and completely. I don’t condone this relationship, especially not after what happened but I know Cassie and he will be miserable until the two of you have worked this out.” Balthazar shot him a heavy look. “You better work this out or I’ll find a reason to lock your ass in prison for good.” He paused again and shook his head, weary with all what had happened.

“You owe it to him”

Dean swallowed once but didn’t reply. Balthazar was clearly unhappy but he was ignoring that unhappiness for Cas’ sake. If Balthazar could do that - and God knew he had all the reasons to hate Dean right now - Dean could get over himself and face the man who’d quite literally caught a bullet for him.

It was time to own up to his mistakes.

The sun had already set and visiting hours were long over but with Balthazar and his police badge in tow it was no problem getting in, even though the nurse was more than insistent on them not disturbing her patient too much. 

Balthazar excused himself to get coffee and left Dean in front of Cas’ room. Dean remembered with a sudden clarity the day he’d came to the hospital to visit Sam, all the anxiety and fear and then the devastating moment they’d told him that the patient had died during the night. Hadn’t Balthazar insisted on Cas being fine Dean didn’t know if he would have been able to make his way here. Already that short moment when Balthazar told him that Cas had been shot and before he assured Dean that he was fine, his world had teetered on the edge. 

But it had also made him realize something crucial.

Dean swallowed once again and pushed down the door handle. The room was dark, safe for the pale street light that fell in through the window and the blinking of the machines. Cas was a darker shape in the midst of pale white, looking almost fragile in between all the tubes and wires that tracked his vitals. It was an image that had sometimes haunted Dean’s dreams, Sam and his gigantic frame in the midst of thrumming machines that had become lungs and heart after his own had failed.

But this was different. There was no breathing tube, no oxygen forcefully pumped into Cas’ lungs, no catheter, just an I.V. and a few wires to keep tabs of his heart rate. He was alive.

He was alive.

Dean closed the door behind him and stepped further into the room. Cas was asleep, chest rising steadily and slowly and his face was relaxed, albeit pale. He slumped down in the chair that stood next to the bed, feeling so incredible relieved it was disorienting. Until this point he had still been afraid, of Cas suddenly dying, of bad news and tragedy, but seeing Cas like this, sleeping and peaceful he finally felt like he could breathe again.

And some small part of him, overtaken by relief and the stupidity of the both of them almost smiled.

They had gotten it all wrong. 

All Dean could do now was pray that it wasn’t too late.

He fell asleep like that, slumped over Cas’ form, falling into a deep sleep that was void of any dreams.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Cas was awake when Dean woke the next morning. He sat upright in the bed, hand draped almost absent mindedly in Dean’s hair as he was staring out of the window. As soon as Dean moved though he retrieved his hand and Dean felt a sudden heaviness in his heart.

“Hey Cas.” He said softly, eyes on Cas’ turned head. He wore one of those ugly hospital gowns, white with blue dots, but even like this he looked like the most beautiful person in existence to Dean. The sight was almost too painful to bear.

“Hello Dean.” Cas turned his head, lips tugged up faintly, but his eyes were guarded. It still made Dean sigh.

They stared at each other for a long moment, Dean struggling for words and Cas quiet yet inquisitive. Dean sighed and dropped his head. After everything, there was only one thing for him to say.

“I’m sorry Cas.” He said, the words feeling heavy as they rolled from his tongue. It were only so few words but they felt like they held the weight of the world in them. “I was an idiot. I should have never walked out on you like that.” He sighed and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. It was hard to find the right words but he forced himself to keep going. “I was so damn scared of losing you too, because that’s just what seems to always happen around me.” Dean huffed out a laugh devoid of any mirth. Saying it out aloud now made it sound so terribly absurd.

“I got it all wrong Cas.” He finally looked up again, meeting Cas eyes. The expression in them was unreadable but not unkind so Dean continued. “I got it all so fucking wrong. This all happened because I’m such a damn coward. I keep running away and it all just keeps getting worse and I was too fucking stupid to see that. And now you’re like this and it’s all because of me but I can’t just leave again like that. Leaving you was the worst mistake of my life and that’s saying something considering my history.” Dean shoved his hand through his hair again, frustration ever growing. Nothing seemed to sound right.

“Dean.” Cas said and his voice was tight. He looked like he was struggling with his words as much as Dean. “What is it you’re trying to say?” There was a sharpness in Cas’ words, like a knife cutting through the haze in Dean’s mind. 

“I’m trying to say that I am truly sorry for the way I acted and I’m also saying that I want to make it up to you any way I can. And not just like before. This time I want to do it right.” Their eyes held for a moment and Dean tried not to lose heart at the calm and unaffected expression in Cas’ eyes. “And…” Dean swallowed. The words refused to come even though they were there right at the tip of his tongue.

“And?” Cas asked, arching an eyebrow. But there was kindness in his words, like he was anticipating what Dean was going to say.

“I really care about you.” Dean forced a calming breath, trying to get a grip on his rampaging emotions. It wasn’t what he’d intended to say but it was all he was able to manage.

“I know.” Cas said quietly and he was smiling that not-quite-there smile again. “I care about you too.” He looked down at his hands. “It is the reason after all why I ended up like this.” Dean opened his mouth to say something but Cas beat him to it. “But I can’t go on like this.” He looked up at Dean and there was sadness in his eyes. “I had a lot of time to think about this. I can’t go on building my whole world around you when you’re just going to run off at any sign of a storm.”

“Cas I-“

“Dean, please let me finish.” Cas laid a heavy gaze on him and Dean shut his mouth. “I thought it was my responsibility as your lover to save you. Which you rightfully pointed out was stupid. But I also relied on you too much for my own good. It almost got me killed.” He sighed heavily, resting a tentative hand on his stomach. Dean’s eyes were inadvertently drawn to it. The big idiot that he was hadn’t even asked Cas how he was feeling and instead forced them to have this conversation.

“I’m not saying caring is a bad thing. God knows I care about you so much it can’t be sane. But I foolishly thought it was my responsibility to go after Alastair with only Balthazar as back up because that’s what knights in shining armors are supposed to do. But I’m not your knight; I’m not your savior and neither are you mine. I can’t be together with you when you continue to depend on me for your happiness. It will break me and it will break you too.

“That is, I am not at all opposed to giving it another try. I recognize well enough that I am happier with you around and I also recognize that your presence here and your feeble attempt at an apology means you are willing to throw in some effort. That is all I could ever ask for.”

Dean almost laughed, so stupidly delighted did he feel with relief. “God damn it Cas. That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to say. Well mostly. I can’t go on like this either. I need to stand on my own two feet again.”

“Well you quite obviously sucked at explaining it.” This time Dean laughed for real, but he just couldn’t help it. Cas had a way with words; he just formed all the things Dean failed to say into perfect sentences. 

“Obviously.” 

Cas smiled warmly, eyes crinkled slightly and Dean felt his heart melt in his chest. These last few days had been hell for Dean, and as it seemed for Cas too but now it finally felt like the weight on Dean’s chest had been lifted. 

There was a short pause where both just looked at each other. Cas had stopped smiling but he still looked at Dean with that warmth that seemed to transfer directly to Dean’s chest, filling him up until he felt like his heart had swollen to double its size. It was such an overwhelming feeling, it was almost painful. 

Dean felt the urge to cry.

“How could I ever deserve you?” He said, half serious. 

“You don’t. But that’s what we’ll be working on.”

Dean huffed a quiet laugh and shook his head. He leaned back in his chair, stretching his back and shoulders until he felt the cramped muscles relax. Sleeping slumped on Cas’ bed had been uncomfortable but until now he had barely noticed.

“This won’t be easy.” Cas cautioned but Dean just smiled.

“I know but I’m willing to give it my all.” He paused and gazed at Cas for a moment longer. “So are we good then?”

Cas was smiling fondly back at him, but there was also a note of seriousness to it. “We will be.” He said, and Dean knew this was as much as he would get today.

It would be enough.

 

**Chapter 12 - City of Angels**

Cas had been in the hospital for three days already when Balthazar had found Dean, so the worst was behind him. But he would still be out of commission for quite a while. Anna had been furious once she learned of his and Balthazar’s solo stunt- rightfully so. She wasn’t above using the evidence they uncovered to build a case against Alastair and his partner. While not following protocol, they hadn’t broken any laws with their actions.

Dean would have to lie to say he wasn’t immensely relieved about that fact. He had spared little thought to Alastair during the last few days but now that he would be locked up for good he definitely felt safer. 

He still had nightmares but after his reunion with Cas their character had significantly changed. It was still Sam, and much rarer Alastair, but they were no longer filled with the brutal despair of a loss he couldn’t cope with. They would continue to haunt him for a long time, Dean had no illusions when it came to that, but they no longer left him broken and unable to pick up the pieces.

He had something he truly wanted to live for now. Sam would have hated him for throwing his life away like that. But Sam’s ghost couldn’t live his life for him and Dean had tried for too long to cling to a life that held no meaning for him. And then Cas had been shot and Dean had been forced to come to face with the truth of it all.

He had tried to live for others and he had almost caused Cas to die. Now he wanted to live for himself, to see all the things he wanted to see; do the things he never had had the opportunity before. Dean wanted to visit the ocean village again with Cas; he wanted to go on a road trip with him; he wanted to show him his home town and he wanted - as simple as that - to grow old and watch his grandchildren play. There were so many things Dean wanted to do; for the first time ever it felt like Sam’s death no longer overshadowed his life. 

It was a small step that realization. He still had far to go.

It was a start though and that was all he needed.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Somehow quietly and without any regards to it, Christmas had passed and a new year had sneaked up on them just as quietly. To Dean it felt like the beginning of a new life.

There was a fragile sort of balance between them after Cas had been released from the hospital. Dean still had to find his footing and Cas was recovering from his injury so they were taking it slow. It was strange though. They had lived together as lovers for so long; it was weird to going back to being just friends. Dean knew it was temporary and only until they were both sure they could handle a relationship as equals, but still. It was hard to get used to. There were enough moments when Dean caught himself reaching out to touch Cas like he used to, or when he leaned in for a kiss he no longer had a right to.

But as time passed he noticed that Cas was the same. And while they weren’t ready yet, Dean knew eventually they would be. Sam was dead, and so was John, and that would hurt for a long time, but it also wasn’t the end of the world.

Dean had gotten a job as a waiter in the diner he’d helped protect a few months earlier. Cas hadn’t outright said anything, but either way Dean no longer wanted to be a freeloader. Working as a waiter wasn’t his ideal dream job but it was a first step to support himself again. And it was nice to have a purpose again; working at the diner gave him a sense of peace.

It was a Saturday, Dean’s day off, and he was once again busy preparing dinner. Cas had just gotten back to work recently and since he was still slightly handicapped Anna had ruled he only got day shifts for the time being. Dean’s own work shifts were flexible and he always made sure to get off at the same time as Cas. They still spend their evenings together but the atmosphere had changed considerable. It was quieter now, less sexual and more peaceful but it did wonders to mend their issues. Dean would have never expected that just being in Cas’ presence could be this fulfilling; not just because Cas eased his pain but because it felt like he was truly at home there. 

As cheesy as that sounded. 

Still, there was something Dean was waiting for and while he didn’t know exactly what it was, he knew it was imperative to hi development. 

Cas would be home soon and Dean still wasn’t finished preparing dinner. He’d thought of doing hamburgers again but somehow it didn’t feel right to do that yet. So he’d gone for Spaghetti and meat ball sauce, a classic that was rather easy to make. 

Dean used to be so concerned about mealtimes; he’d always tried and get it done right for the moment Cas stepped out of his obligatory shower, but as he had realized at some point that was just another one of those ways he’d tried to make himself perfect and irreplaceable for Cas. They’d found quite a few of those habits. It had led to an uncomfortable talk about abandonment issues that Dean had hated every second of but afterwards had inevitably felt better. Cas wasn’t a psychiatrist but he had listened to Dean ranting - after endlessly coaxing him - and he’d withheld any judgment, just lent an ear Dean had never realized he had needed in the first place.

It had changed his perspective on Sam’s leave for Stanford and while he was still ridden with a lot of guilt, he also had accepted - albeit reluctantly - that John carried the most responsibility for the outcome. And that even Sam carried some of the guilt too. To accept that had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. He’d lived his life protecting and raising Sam, and while he certainly had his flaws, to Dean Sam had never been anything short of perfect. Subconsciously he had blamed Sam, must have blamed him for abandoning him, but in his mind it had been all on him.

That was not to say the realization hadn’t hurt like a bitch and skewed Dean’s world view quite a lot. He had come to terms with the fact that not everything was his responsibility. There were things ultimately out of Dean’s control and as Cas calmly put it, sometimes things just happen for no particular reason. Like car accidents. It might have been Dean’s fault that they hadn’t spoken for years - still, it always takes two. But there was nothing he could have done to prevent that accident, as there was nothing he could have done to save his father from his eventual alcohol induced death. Something he entirely inflicted on himself.

The front door opened, signifying Cas’ return. The spaghetti were almost done and Dean pulled the sauce from the stove to let it sit until it could be served. He was early with dinner today, but he knew Cas wouldn’t care if it was a bit cool.

Cas walked past the kitchen door to say a quick greeting before he went into the bathroom. Dean couldn’t help but miss the way he would come in and kiss him hello before, or how he would linger to see what Dean had cooked and maybe get a bit handsy. There were a lot of things he missed - all the more reason to focus on getting his own problems solved.

And that was exactly what he wanted to talk about tonight.

Dinner was served and waiting when Cas came out of the shower. He wore his pajama pants and an old too big shirt that showed off way too much of his collar bone than was healthy for Dean right now. Cas caught Dean’s eyes as he had been staring at the exposed skin and he smiled that stupid smile of his. All warm eyes and barely there tilt of lips like Dean had just done something adorable. Dean felt the warmth spread to him, knowing that it was Cas’ way of telling him that the attraction between them was unchanged. He sat down and as soon as he was settled, Dean opened his mouth.

“I want to visit Sam’s grave.” He forwent any small talk; there was no need for it. In a way they were even better in understanding each other silently than before their split up. It was easier somehow, without all the expectations they had had on each other before. 

Cas took the statement at face value, only indicating with a nod that he was listening. That was also something that happened a lot recently. Cas would always let him talk, only prompting with small gestures and while it was often enough hard to find the words, Dean found it was also a relief to just speak his mind freely. 

“I was there on the funeral.” Dean stared down at his untouched meal. Painful words had somewhat become customary to him, but it wasn’t any easier now than it had been the first time. “But it all happened in a haze. All the people, Sam’s friends, his girlfriend; they were all there. I didn’t know a single one of them.” Dean sighed, feeling the heaviness of that memory settle in. “I don’t remember much of the service but I still remember one thing clearly. I kept thinking that as long as I don’t look into the coffin, as long as I don’t see Sam he won’t be dead.” 

Dean had to pause for a moment and collect himself. Cas was quietly eating his meal, seemingly not paying attention but Dean knew that he was intently listening. It was easier like that, they had found, If Dean spoke to an un-listening audience, to an empty room that couldn’t judge. He hadn’t planned on relaying this much, but it felt like the right thing to do. “But of course there was no way I couldn’t not see him. I was his brother and everyone was going out of their fucking way to give me a moment of privacy with him.” Dean remembered so clearly the bitterness he had felt back then; the extra treatment he clearly had felt he didn’t deserve. “He looked so peaceful. Like he’d just taken a nap and would wake up any second.”

He had one hand closed around the amulet hanging around his neck, something he still did on instinct. He had held it back then too. All the emotions he had felt in that moment came flooding back. For a moment Dean was struck speechless but then the force ebbed and Dean realized that it didn’t hurt as much as it used to. It wasn’t because of Cas, but because Dean was starting to come to terms with what happened. 

The realization was almost stunning in its simplicity.

“He was wearing a suit.” It was easier to continue now. The crippling pain had abated; what was left was only a lingering sadness mixed with fondness and love for his brother. “I’ve never seen Sam in a suit before and there he was. I remember thinking that this couldn’t be my brother. The Sam I knew wore plaid shirts and had a messy mop on his head; he wasn’t that perfectly groomed doll in a coffin. And then it had hit me, that the Sam I knew had run away three years ago and whatever he had become afterwards I wouldn’t know.”

Silence descended over the room. Cas had finished his meal and was now leaning back in his seat, staring idly out the window. Sometimes Dean wondered how it must be for Cas to always listen to him and his painful introspect, how it must feel to not be able to do or say anything because every bit of influence would throw Dean off.

“I wonder how Dad looked like.” Dean mused. Cas finally turned his head to look at him, eyes warm and welcome and he could feel the burden ease up a little more. “He used to be so tall when I was young, like a tower. I thought he was strong too, like he could do everything. And then Mom died and he just seemed to crumble until he seemed so small in the end. But I guess that was just me growing up.” Dean shrugged, not sure anymore where this was even going. If it was even going somewhere. 

Cas hummed a note, now watching Dean with that quiet intensity that was so unique to him. Like everything Dean said was important, regardless of its content. “Anyway, I want to go to Palo Alto and visit Sammy’s grave. I want to do it properly this time. There’s so much I want to tell him.”

“Dean.” Cas said. It was the first thing he had said since they sat down for dinner. It wasn’t a question; merely a statement. Their eyes met for a quiet moment; Cas silently conveying what he wanted to say.

“Thank you.” Dean said, bowing his head. He had known that Cas would acquiesce but he still felt the need to ask. 

Cas just smiled. 

Dean smiled back. This was what he had been waiting for. He’d known all along that going to Palo Alto was what he needed to do to finally say his goodbyes, but so far he had lacked the strength. Now he was finally ready.

“We can visit your family afterwards.” Cas suggested with a warm smile. He didn’t say it out loud but Dean understood regardless. 

“Yeah.” He replied and then again because the moment just seemed to call for it. “Yeah, let’s do that.” 

In a way that was the best birthday present he ever got.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Cas didn’t invite him back into the bedroom that day, but if anything Dean was patient. They had rushed into this in the most headless way possible and now they were still picking up the pieces. It was likely that Cas wanted to wait until their trip to Palo Alto. Dean could wait another few weeks. 

Apparently though Cas couldn’t

Only three days in he came into the living room shortly after they had said their good nights. Dean was still awake and reading but he felt restless, wanting to get up and do something without quite knowing what. When he saw Cas in his pajamas - strings undone and pushed down precariously on his hips - he knew exactly what it was.

“Trying to please myself when you are in the next room is pretty much a waste of semen.” Cas deadpanned and for a moment their gazes just held without either of them moving and then Cas smirked down at him. “I’d much rather smear it all over you.” There was something severely wrong with Dean because he thought this was the hottest thing Cas ever said to him.

He put away the book without hesitating, pushing back the covers but Cas wasn’t moving. 

“If you want that is.” He added almost timidly but Dean could tell it must have cost him quite some restraint. There was an obvious bulge in his pants, the peak soaked through with liquid and very obviously straining. Was it too hasty again? Dean couldn’t tell, but what he could tell was that they both wanted this and that while Cas had gone about it quite bluntly he was as unsure as Dean was.

But he also knew that Cas wouldn’t offer this if he didn’t see something in Dean that was worth the chance.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Dean grinned, mimicking Cas’ earlier approach. But inside he was just as serious and aware of the implications as Cas must have been. This might very well lead to the conclusion of their separation.

Cas smirked again and then he pulled off his sleep shirt in one smooth motion. He had gotten thinner, something Dean had been aware of but it was still a shock to see it like this. Cas had lost a lot of his muscle mass, the once defined abs were barely visible now and there was a white star of scar tissue on his belly where the bullet had hit him. It was the first time Dean saw him naked since their breakup.

Dean reached out a hand and Cas stepped forward so he could press his fingers against the jagged edges of the scar. The skin was slightly raised but otherwise smooth to the touch. Dean swallowed. Cas had come so close to dying.

Cas put his hands on Dean’s and they let their eyes meet for a moment. He was only able to hold that gaze for a heartbeat before Dean had to look away. Cas took that bullet for him and yet here he was, still accepting him into his life. After everything. In a way this was as much a step on his way than visiting Sam’s grave was.

But he understood now that it wasn’t because Cas needed him and couldn’t do without him; it was because he consciously decided that he wanted to be with Dean, because they were so much happier together than apart.

It was about choice. 

And that was so much better than fate could ever be.

“I want to try something different.” Dean said, meeting Cas’ eyes evenly. Cas quirked an eyebrow and Dean guided his hand down between his legs until they came to rest on the fabric right above his anus. He watched as Cas’ eyes widened, pupils already dilating as the realization settled in. He let out one slow concentrated breath, eyes locked on Dean, assessing one more time before he suddenly pulled away.

Dean watched as Cas shoved off his pants roughly, staring at Dean for a moment before he seemingly remembered where they were and what they were about to do. He took another deep breath. “There’s no lube here.” Dean just nodded and followed Cas as he walked quickly into the bedroom. He barely had the time to commemorate the fact that this was the first time he was in there since their split before he was pushed down on the bed by a very eager Cas.

Considering how greedy he was now Dean supposed it was remarkable that he managed to wait three days at all. 

Cas carded his hand through Dean’s hair, angling him this way and that so he could reach all the spots on Dean’s face he knew he liked. Despite his eagerness though, Cas was still very gentle. This wasn’t the time for rough sex and both of them were aware of that. They had to re-learn each other just as much as they had to reaffirm that they were still the same.

Dean used the opportunity to take advantage of Cas’ completely naked state, letting his hands roam down his back and sides, kneading his butt cheeks until he finally closed his hand around his already erect shaft. Cas shuddered and dragged his teeth along Dean’s jaw, rubbing their stubbles together the next moment.

There was a deep hunger evident in both their actions. They hadn’t touched each other for weeks and while both were aware of the importance of this, they also were quite impatient. Dean felt oddly conflicted. For one he wanted to do it quick and dirty, Cas fucking into him until Dean’s ass was sore, like he’d used to do to Cas so often, but the other part of him wanted to cherish this, enjoy every last second of Cas laying him bare until Dean was out of his mind.

In the end they settled on something in between. Cas undressed him with a distinct lack of patience but as soon as Dean was naked he returned to that quiet reverence that Dean had come to loath and love at equal parts. He’d take his time, kissing and caressing every part of Dean until he was close to begging and then some more.

But Cas was also at the end of his patience and after he had worshipped all of Dean’s upper body he couldn’t resist any longer. Dean was lying on his back, eyes pressed shut as he clung on to the sheets. He had done it with a man like this only once or twice and it always had been kind of a weird experience but Cas knew his body better than anyone and it had barely taken him a minute to find that spot inside of him which he was now abusing mercilessly. 

Dean was starting to wonder if there was going to be any penetration happening today or if Cas was out to drive him mad solely with his fingers. It would be like him to do that.

“Cas.” Dean breathed, voice already gone hoarse from too much use. He couldn’t see Cas’ face from his position but he could tell just as well that there was a broad smirk on his lips. Cas’ smiles were such small things, barely there and centered on his eyes but his smirks were the exact opposite, wild and open. 

“Yes Dean?” He asked innocently, twisting his fingers in time with his words until Dean’s back arched of fthe bed. Dean just groaned. Cas while being undeniably horny had also the ability to restrain himself for insane amounts of time only to drive Dean crazy. Cas chuckled lowly, breath tickling over Dean’s inner thigh. “Alright.” He said with another chuckle. “I’ll take care of you.”

“It’s about time.” Dean growled as Cas pulled out his fingers. 

“I like it when you’re impatient.” Cas said with a fond note to his voice. 

“I like it when you get on with it instead of being a teasing bastard.” Dean retorted with a cocky grin, but voice equally as fond. Their eyes met for a moment and just like that the last residual tension between them evaporated. So much had changed and yet some things would always remain the same. 

Dean spread his legs in invitation, drawing Cas’ eyes downwards until they locked on somewhere between the red swell of his cock and the puckered hole of his entrance. Cas licked his lips. 

“I think I like it even more when you’re impatient and try to seduce me.” Cas smirked. He leaned over to grab a condom from the nightstand. Dean picked up the lube and waited until Cas had pulled the condom on before he tossed Cas the bottle. It had been weeks but they were still perfectly in tune to each other.

Cas pushed two fingers back in, scissoring them a few times until he was sure Dean was ready. He then pulled Dean’s legs over his shoulders, aligning the tip of his cock with Dean’s hole. Their eyes met again, holding for a moment and then Dean had to close his again as Cas’ cock breached him for the first time. 

Dean’s fingers clenched around the bunched up sheet in his hand, toes curling as Cas pushed in torturously slow. It was tight and there was a faint drag of skin but aside from being somewhat uncomfortable there was no pain. And being filled up like this, by this man was the most exquisite feeling in the world.

Cas let out a tiny gasp once he was sheathed in completely. There was a moment when neither moved, both too absorbed in the feeling of being this close after being apart for so long. Cas was staring down at Dean, eyes wide and breathing heavily. He lifted a hand and gently placed the tips of his fingers on the spot where his cock disappeared into Dean’s body.

“I’d never guessed it would feel this amazing.” He said, voice struck with awe. Cas swallowed and looked down at Dean. “May I move now?” Dean could feel the tremble of his legs through their joined bodies, the effort it must have been to keep still while Cas so obviously wanted to move taking its toll.

“Yeah.” Dean’s own voice had been at its limit for quite a while now so his acquiescence came out only as a breathless moan but for Cas it was all that was needed. He started slow at first, gently pulling out and sliding back in until he had found an angle that was working well for them both. Dean was gripping the sheets, body burning up slowly as the pleasure coursed through him. His cock was heavy and throbbing between his legs but the sensation paled against the rub of Cas’ length against his insides.

Cas shifted, adjusting their positions until he could thrust in deeper and as he did so he picked up the pace. Dean’s voice broke on the first moan and he was only able to pant heavily as Cas further increased his pace. 

“Dean.” Cas groaned, fingers digging into the meat of Dean’s thigh. “Dean.” And again. He shifted again and Dean was suddenly flooded with a sensation so exquisite it took what little breath he had left away. It was so much better than when Cas had stimulated him with his fingers. Dean arched off the bed, pushing his hips up into each of Cas’ thrusts, desperate for that friction. Cas eagerly met him, all too willing to give him what he wanted.

Dean blindly scrambled with his hand until he found his cock where it bobbed swollen between his legs. He was so close all that was missing was that bit of extra friction. Cas moaned something unintelligible; it could have been a curse or a moan around Dean’s name. His grip on Dean’s thighs tightened as his rhythm changed. He was no longer thrusting in a regular pace but in short irregular very powerful thrusts that send shivers of heat through Dean’s body every time. He pumped his hand in time with Cas’ thrusts, one, two, three times and then his orgasm hit him like a wave, crashing through his whole body until Dean was nothing but a pile of fucked-out bliss. 

It took him a while to come to and when he did he saw Cas smiling down at him. He had stopped moving and Dean couldn’t tell if he had come or not. 

“I’d definitely want to do this again.” Cas said with a self satisfied smirk. He rolled off Dean, flopping down next to him with an exhausted sigh. He turned his head to look at Dean and they smiled each other, both still wrung out from post coital bliss.

“Yeah. “Dean said. “Me too.”

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

It was the middle of February when they went to visit Palo Alto. California had been hit by a drought and it hadn’t rained for weeks. It was already way too warm for February and the air in the car was stifling. Dean had called Bobby to arrange a visit after they were done in Palo Alto and he would have to lie to say he wasn’t looking forward to that. But with every mile they neared the final resting place of his late brother, the more restless he felt.

Cas had been silent since they got in the car, idly watching the landscape rush by and giving Dean the space he needed to sort through his buzzing mind. Dean had only a few memories left from his earlier visit to Palo Alto and most of those were related to the funeral. Cas had suggested they take the time to visit the city for a day or so but Dean wasn’t sure he was ready for that yet. This was after all the place Sam had called home for the last years of his life and Dean didn’t want to intrude on that too early.

There was time for that later.

So they drove straight to the graveyard once they reached the city.

“I can wait in the car.” Cas offered after Dean had pulled over on the street across the graveyard. It was an old place, weathered stone walls grown over with ivy and wild wine, gates rusty and creaking in the wind. But the graves were well cared for, the grass was trimmed, the pathways cleared and the grave sites groomed and kept orderly. It was a good place for a final rest.

Dean thought for a moment. This was a very personal moment for him but that meant Cas had to be there all the more. “I want you to come with me, please.” Cas inclined his head and followed Dean out of the car. He had dressed smartly for the occasion. Not a suit, Sammy would laugh at him in a suit, but a nice silk shirt and black dress pants. Somehow he felt he owed it to the occasion.

It had been more than half a year since the last time he had been here, still Dean knew the way to Sam’s grave by heart. The air was as stifling as it had been in the car, not a hint of moisture in it. Dean was glad that he hadn’t opted for a suit; already he was feeling terribly uncomfortable. 

Cas was shadowing him quietly, ever the unobtrusive one when the grave site came into view. This part of the graveyard was filled with newer graves, in some places the earth had been filled in only recently; the head stones were still smooth and polished to a shine. Dean’s heart grew even heavier.

There were fresh flowers on Sam’s grave, white lilies tied together with a red ribbon, placed with great care right under the engraved letters of Sam’s name.

**Samuel Winchester - may your soul forever rest in peace**

He dropped down to his knees. “Hey Sammy.” Dean said with a wan smile. He had thought this would feel weird - to talk to a grave like that - but this was as close to his brother that he’d ever get again. Somehow it was almost like Sam was here somewhere, revived in the loving memories of all the people who had called Sam dear.

“Now that I am here I actually don’t have a freaking clue what to say. I thought I was going to apologize but that seems so stupid now. You’re dead; nothing’s going to change that. And I am sorry for that, God knows I am, but I’ve also realized that there was nothing I could have done about it.” Dean dropped his hand to rest on the grass next to the flowers. It was a subdued shade of green, the persistent sunlight beating it down relentlessly. The flowers were fresh and full of life in comparison; whoever brought them must have been here only a few hours ago.

“I’m stupid aren’t I?” He asked solemnly. “You died and I turned everything around until it was about me. So I should probably apologize for that.” He paused again, gazing over the rows of graves surrounding them, the countless dead and he couldn’t help but wonder about the many forms of grieve this place must have been witness to. Yet it all seemed so peaceful. “Sorry for being such a jerk.” The word had an almost painful familiarity, like the thousand times Sam had called him that.

“I want you to meet someone.” He continued and without looking he could tell that Cas had taken a few steps forward. “You would have liked him. He’s badass and a cop and the best thing that could have ever happened to me.” He paused, took in the scenery again and then looked down at the flowers. They must have been from his girlfriend. “I really love him.” Behind him Cas was sucking in his breath, a soft sound almost lost in the sudden breeze that rustled through the nearby trees. The white lily petals were waving softly as if they wanted to signal their acquiescence. 

Dean felt the soft prick of tears in his eyes. He took off the amulet that had worn him down for so long, the amulet that carried his last physical memories of Sam and he hung it over the edge of the head stone. “It’s for good luck.” He said; the same words Sam had said to him so many years ago. “You’ll need it more than I do.” **I have Cas now**. Dean smiled through the tears and the breeze picked up again and for a moment he felt like it was embracing him, like the hug of a long-lost brother. 

“Goodbye Sam.” He whispered to the wind and the leaves and all the ghosts of the dead. The breeze subsided but it left the air clear and cool.

“I will never stop feeling sad about Sam’s death.” Dean said, still kneeling on the dry wispy grass. The air now carried a subtle scent of spring like the beginning of something new. “But I won’t let it dictate the rest of my life either.” Dean brushed a hand over the grass growing on the grave. It was short and prickly but it still carried the promise of new life in it. He turned his head to look at Cas. “I can choose my home wherever I want it, and right now that’s with you.”

A new beginning.

Cas smiled at him, eyes warm and soft, full of love. A love he knew was well returned. 

And this time they would get it right.

~ Fin


End file.
